Sweet Revenge
by Mrs Jace Wayland-Herondale
Summary: Clarissa Morgenstern was raised by the best of the best; Valentine Morgenstern. Valentine taught her to be tough and to fight; Jocelyn taught her to be compassionate and loving. But what will she do when conspiracies around her parent's tragic death arise? Some say it was an accident, others say it was staged. AU, OOC.
1. Chapter 1: The Girl

_Cambridge to Boston,_

_Lives in a world she's lost in. Victim of compromise._

_He's staring at her Aberdeen heart,_

_London eyes,_

_Glasgow bone._

_She's a whistle in the catacombs, A paradox._

_He's in love with the statue in a marble block._

_He's in love with the girl that time forgot._

The Girl, Hellberg Ft Cozi Zuehlsdorff

* * *

><p>For centuries, shadowhunters have lived and fought, spilling their sweat and blood to defend the unsuspecting human world. Nephilim die every day. Our kind die by the hands of demons, they die to protect others, they die because that is what we do. We fight, we die; It's a simple fact of life- for shadowhunters and mundanes. Too bad mundanes are too oblivious to see what is going on right under their noses; it's sad, really. To be so blind would be horrible; it would make you weak and worthless. Staying ahead of the game is the only way to survive in this world.<p>

Good thing I was trained by the very best.

Valentine Morgenstern, one of the greatest shadowhunters of his generation, was my father. Jocelyn Fairchild, a well-known artist throughout the shadow world, was my mother. She painted all sorts of things; family portraits for the rich, great murals for the Clave. She even sketched a few things for the latest edition of the Shadowhunter Codex. That is, until they were murdered, right before my eyes.

But, I'm a big girl now. I vowed to avenge them. I will find that worthless 'greater' demon and destroy him. Those kinds of demons are unworthy of being called 'greater' demons. They are repulsive, evil creatures that should be killed. Then again, all shadowhunters feel this way, and I'm not the only one who has lost a parent, or even both. That's why I decided to suck it up and deal with it. That's life.

I'm thankful for the time I had with my parents. They were caring, loving, and they trained me to be the best of my generation. My mother was beautiful, and had an amazing affinity for art. I inherited all of my physical traits from her, from my curly red hair, straight down to my short stature and love of art. My other talents though, are all thanks to my father's nonstop training. My father was a sort of prodigy throughout the shadow community; demons trembled at the mention of his name. Downworlders stayed out of his way, and allied themselves with him when needed, just to be on his good side. Young shadowhunters looked up to him in awe. That's my father, and I am his daughter: fierce, strong, and loyal above all else. I am Clarissa Morgenstern.

And now, many years later, I find myself aimlessly walking the foreign streets of New York City. Growing up in Idris, there were no cars with blaring horns, no jumbo-trons screaming at you to buy redundant mundane items, and everything wasquieter and much more peaceful. Here, everything is all hustle bustle and rude people and noise.

The sun is setting as I turn onto a much quieter, industrial section of the large city. The putrid smell of rotting garbage is strewn in the grimy streets, and abandoned warehouses line along the shore of the toxic-looking river.

Stopping in a narrow side alley, I pull out my witchlight and scout the alley for danger. Deeming the area clear for now, I return the smooth stone to my pocket and lean against the grimy brick wall letting my head fall back, and closing my eyes. I silently pull out my stele and trace a hearing rune onto my neck, feeling the tip glide over the faded scar where I have re-applied that rune countless times. I put my stele away and breathe in deeply, centering myself and listening. Listening for what? I don't know yet, but I listen for anything, any signs of demonic or downworld activity. Something to bide my time.

Other than the occasional skittering of rats and the constant noise from the city proper, there is nothing. After what seems like eons of waiting, I hear a faint rustle in the distance, the comforting sound of metal on metal, clicking together, and thick leather clothing brushing together quietly. Shadowhunters, from the sounds of it. The way they walk is careful and precise, yet I can still hear it from a far distance. The tell-tale signs of demons drift through the air as well, making my nose scrunch up at the disgusting smell. Like garbage, but a hundred times worse. The smell is worse than rotting garbage and feces- disgusting and putrid.

The clicking and slithering noises drift my way as well, so I straighten up from my position leaning against the wall, itching to join in a fight. After tracing silence, strength, and agility runes onto my pale, already-scarred skin, I slink my way in the general direction of the noises. Seeing a closed dumpster right up against a low building, I easily jump onto it, and quickly scale the side of the wall, and stand in a crouch at the top of the building.

From the new vantage point, I can see some of the skyline, but skyscrapers and smog clouds the rest of it. Scanning the ground, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, and turn just in time to see the flash of a leather sheathed sword disappear into a crumbling warehouse building. So, here are the shadowhunters I heard earlier. Staying in a crouch, I move to the edge of the roof and gracefully drop down, never losing my balance.

Well they aren't watching their backs very well; If I were a demon I could have already killed them, I think with a small frown on my face as I edge to the doorway that they entered through. Stopping with my back against the wall next to the open door, I slowly peer around the corner and into the warehouse. Standing there were three young shadowhunters, all of them looking to be around my age- seventeen. The leader, obviously the eldest, has a quiver of arrows on his back and a bow in hand, and his black hair contrasts beautifully with his piercing blue eyes. The girl has long black hair, like her brothers, and they looked like they could be twins if not for her dark brown eyes. A beautifully crafted electrum whip was partially wrapped around her wrist, with the rest dangling down, ready at any moment.

It was the last boy that really caught my eye, though. He looked like the complete polar opposites of the other two. If they were night, then he was day, with his golden halo of hair and eyes that looked like liquid gold. While the dark-haired siblings had a milky pale complexion, similar to my own, the blonde boy had a perfect golden tan that people pay big money for, and he seemed to glow with his own light. I don't pay much attention to boys or dating, but this boy- no, this man- is absolutely stunning. I feel as if looking too long will burn my eyes, like trying to stare at the sun. They're here for a reason, there are demons nearby. I can't be distracted by a boy I don't even know.

The trio falls silent, nodding in agreement. They draw their weapons and silently stalk their way further into the warehouse. In order to keep them in my line of sight, I have to follow their lead, staying in the shadows and behind old crates.

As we progress forward- well, as I follow them- the slithering and skittering demon sounds become louder and more predominant in the creaky old building. The three shadowhunters turn a corner, so I edge up against the wall and stand there listening. With a bang that sounds like someone breaking down a door, followed instantly by the sounds of seraph blade slicing demons, I turn the corner and see the three enter a large room.

Deciding to keep my distance, I crouch on a crate that gives me a perfect view of the room through the huge doors. I see the leader, the boy with the black hair, standing near the entrance still and letting arrows fly into various demons. The other two are also faring well on their own; the tall girl flicks her electrum whip around a demons torso, and slices the demon in half. It shrivels and folds in on itself.

The beautiful blonde boy has a seraph blade in each hand and dances around, slaying demon after horrid demon. He is very well trained, obviously, and the way he moves is smooth and graceful, yet deadly at the same time. His movements mesmerize me and I find myself staring. I probably shouldn't stare, I should be focused and watch my own back, but looking away doesn't seem like an option.

Luckily, some part of my instincts were still working, not very quickly, but they worked none-the-less. While watching the golden boy, I barely caught a shimmering movement out of the corner of my eyes. It looked like a shadowy mist, and it didn't have any shape to it at all.

It took me a moment to ponder what it was, but when I did, a hand flew to my mouth and the tears sprung to my eyes. I haven't cried since my parents' death, and I certainly will not cry now. I especially won't cry for the greater demon that literally scared my parents to their grave.

Agramon, the demon of fear, was in this very building, probably feeling up the other shadowhunters' minds so that it could morph into their greatest fears. The demon did not sense me, so I was safe for the time being. I pulled out my stele and drew the fearless rune onto my chest. There is no rune like it anywhere; not in the Grey Book, not in the Codex, and not in any other book either. I created this rune right before my parents died; they knew what was going to happen to them, so my mother had me think hard, think about being brave and strong, and the image came to my mind right then and there. I drew the rune onto me, and that's the only thing that saved me from the greater demon that killed them.

I had to help the other shadowhunters, I'm the only one who can. Whilst drawing the rune onto me, I hear a bloodcurdling scream, a scream that chilled me to the bone.

Without looking into the room, I edge up and lean my back against the wall, then peek around the corner. The blonde boy and the girl stop to stare at the blue-eyed boy who is screaming bloody murder at nothing. When they turn to where he is pointing, their eyes go wide. The girl drops to the ground and covers her face screaming no, stop, over and over again. The golden, blonde boy looks starkly pale, like all the blood has drained from his body.

I know I have to do something, so I grab the small flask of Holy Water that I keep on me at all times, and run towards the mist.

"Hey!" I scream, and successfully catch its attention. The others drop to the ground unconscious. I can see a vague face in the mist, and it leers at me. When it discovers that its power won't work, I leer back at it and fling the water onto it. A hissing noise comes from the shadow, and its dark tendrils recoil in pain. With a laugh I grip my three blessed daggers by the blade, ignoring the sharp pain and blood trickling on my hand, and I expertly throw them at Agramon. Surprisingly, the daggers do not go right through it, they hit dead center and stay there. The mist slowly dissipates with a hiss, and I know it will be back soon.

I walk over to the dark-haired boy since he seems to be the most affected. I draw a calming rune, as well as an iratze for any other injuries. Then, I do the same for the girl, and the golden boy.

When I get to the blonde boy, I kneel down and my heart speeds up a little. Blood trickles down his head, so I draw an iratze on his neck. To make sure the wound healed, I brushed back his soft golden curls and inspect his head. He stirs and groans a little bit at my touch.

"Can't keep your hands off, can you Red?" he mutters under his breath and his eyes open a slit. I sit back on my heels at shock that he recovered so quickly. "Ah!" he hisses in pain when he tries to sit up, so I help him into a sitting position and lean away again.

"We need to get out of here, that demon will be back soon," I say urgently, and he just looks at me.

"Who are you?" he asks with curious sparkle in his eyes.

"Not important. Get up, we have to go," I repeat in a stern tone, and hold out a hand to help him up. He refuses the helping hand, and gets up on his own, with some difficulty, might I add.

"Get Isabelle, I'll get Alec," he says and points to the girl who is on the ground still.

I kneel next to her and gently shake her shoulder, trying to wake her up. When that doesn't work, I panic a bit and have to check her pulse to make sure she's alive. The pulse is steady and strong, thankfully, but she still doesn't wake up.

"She's out cold," I call over to the others and the blonde boy walks over to help, but I pick up Isabelle on my own with little difficulty. The dark haired boy, Alec slowly walks over to us with a guarded look on his face.

"Who are you?" he asks sharply and watches me closely, probably to make sure I don't hurt his sister.

"Look, I just saved your asses, if I wanted to do anything, I would've already," I snap at him and he looks annoyed. I hand Isabelle to him and walk over to a wall and pull out my stele.

When I start to trace the portal rune, also one of my creation, I get more questions, but I wave them off. As soon as the portal is finished, I wave towards it.

"It'll take you to your Institute. You're welcome, by the way," I add on sarcastically, since no one thanked me.

"You're not going to come with us? Our mother runs the New York Institute and she'll have questions," the dark haired boy explains with a weary expression. He obviously wants some answers.

"No, I have things to do, people to save," I smirk at them sarcastically and turn to leave; I made the portal to close right after them.

"Hey!" the blonde boy yells and jogs up to me, catching my wrist before I can escape. "Jace Herondale. Still didn't catch your name," he says in a tone that would make a mundane girl swoon, or probably feint.

I pull my wrist free easily and put my hand on my waist, and attempt a one eyebrow raise, but it doesn't work out very well.

"That's my business," I say mysteriously, then add on a little more. "Good luck, Goldie Locks." I turn on my heel and leave before he can say anything, but I can feel his gaze burning into the back of my head as I walk away, disappearing into the shadows.


	2. Chapter 2: Chasing Pavement

I've made up my mind,  
>Don't need to think it over,<br>If I'm wrong I am right,  
>Don't need to look no further,<br>This ain't lust,  
>I know this is love but,<p>

If I tell the world,  
>I'll never say enough,<br>Cause it was not said to you,  
>And that's exactly what I need to do,<br>If I'm in love with you

Chasing Pavement, Adele

* * *

><p>Finding my way around the city wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be, especially since I had my contacts here and there, one of them being the New York clan leader, Simon Lewis.<p>

Simon is practically a newborn compared to the others, but he was sick and tired of the actions of the old leader, Raphael Santiago, so he took over. Let's just say that there are less and less missing people's reports in that area, now. Over the years, Simon and I grew fairly close, and he was my only real friend. He respected me being a shadowhunter, while I respected his thirst for blood, so long as he doesn't kill anybody.

Another of my contacts was Luke Garroway, formerly known as Lucian Graymark when he was a shadowhunter; he is now the New York pack leader. He used to be very good friends with my parents when they were younger, but they had a falling out after he got ambushed and turned into a werewolf. Even after the falling out, him and my mom stayed in touch and he would always send me mundane novels since I loved to read; yes, I know I'm a hypocrite, I said the mundane world is stupid, but I like a wide variety.

He's a very laid back person, in contrast with my father. My father, Valentine, was basically a high-strung bundle of nerves. He had a bad temper, but he never let it get the best of him. He trained me well, and he wasn't very affectionate, but the way his eyes shone with pride told me all I needed to know.

The last contact isn't much of a friend, but more like an acquaintance: Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn. He adored my mother's artwork and was one of her regular buyers. You could say I have friends in high places.

Rather than calling ahead for a bit of a warning, I simply tracked Luke down to his bookstore; it will be the first time meeting in person. After a long trek through the streets, I finally arrive to a quaint looking store with a class front window filled with haphazardly stacked books. A man, presumably Luke, is towards the back of the store, but when I try to open the door, it is already locked. Instead of drawing an opening rune and scaring him, I knock.

He looks up from where he is moving books around, and his guard goes up instantly. He slowly walks to the door, and I wait patiently with my hands on my hips.

"Who are you, Nephilim?" he asks in a weary voice. I can see his nails sharpening slightly into claws, ready to fully change at a moment's notice. I smirk and shake my hair out as an answer. Everyone says I'm an exact replica of my mother, with her red curls, green eyes, and freckles. His eyes visibly widen after he gets a better look. "Jocelyn? How can…Impossible," he mutters in shock.

My smirk drops instantly when he mentions her name. "Try again, Graymark," I say in a neutral tone. The second he hears my voice he unlocks the door and pulls me into a big bear hug.

"Clarissa!" he says with joy, and I awkwardly hug him back. When he finally pulls back, I wrinkle my nose.

"You smell like a wet dog, Luke. No offense," I laugh lightly. He grins and shakes his head.

"How's that for a greeting? Come in, I'll take your bag," he gestures his arm towards the bookstore. I gladly walk in from the chilly wind and let him take my backpack.

"Nice store you got here," I say absent-mindedly as I run my fingers along the dusty spines of the books. At this moment, I want nothing more than a good book to curl up with in a warm bed, and a cup of black coffee.

As if reading my mind, Luke says, "I was just closing up, I assume you need a place to stay?"

"That'd be great, thanks," I smile back and realize that the second I walked in, my guard went down. Weird. I feel so safe here, and it's the home of a werewolf pack leader. Never thought I'd say that…I let my thoughts wander as I follow Luke to the back of the store.

"You're more than welcome to grab a book if you want. Just come up through the back," he gestures to the stairs that lead to a small landing, probably the entrance to his apartment.

"Tell me, can pack leaders read minds?" I joke and he chuckles and walks off with a 'no' for an answer. I walk up and down the aisles before settling on a classic, A Tale of Two Cities. I continue to skim the books out of curiosity before I make my way up to the attached apartment.

When I walk in through the small entrance, I take off my coat and hang it on one of the wall hooks, and wipe the mud off my feet on the mat. I can hear glass clanking, so I turn to the left into a small kitchen to see Luke rummaging through his fridge. To the right of the entrance is the living room and a door with multiple locks, probably a side entrance from the alley.

"Are you hungry? I don't have much, but I have a couple of cans of soup and stuff for sandwiches," Luke's head pops out from behind the refrigerator door.

"That's fine with me, do you need help?" I ask, but he declines and leads me to the spare bedroom that he says I can stay in. I decide to wash up a bit and unpack my things. Luckily for me, I came up with a very handy rune, similar to the charm in Harry Potter, which expands the space in a bag, without making it heavy or large. The bag is a simple black backpack that one would use for school, but my rune allowed me to pack several outfits, mostly dark, several pairs of shoes and boots, a few weapons (I'm not too worried about carrying a bunch of weapons when I can just find a church and borrow from their stash), toiletries, and art supplies, of course. To anyone who didn't know about the rune, it would look like the objects were just disappearing into the bag, or like I was pulling them out of nowhere. I have to admit, my rune creating skills have come in handy in serious situations, as well as for little things like upgrading my storage space.

After unpacking all of my stuff, I make my way back to the kitchen to find Luke. When I enter, he is pouring the soup into bowls. Seeing that he has the food handled, I choose a cupboard at random to search for cups. To my luck, I find the cups on my first try, and think to myself, Lucky guess!

"What do you want to drink, Luke?" I ask politely.

"I'll just have water, thanks. There's some soda in the fridge if you want that, though," he adds. I put a couple of ice cubes in each of our cups, and pour myself a class of Dr. Pepper, my favorite, and get Luke some water from the refrigerator's water filter.

When we sit to eat, neither of us speak for a few minutes. As always, my mind wanders from the present, and I drift off to thoughts of the golden boy from earlier, Jace. He was definitely a boy to watch out for; conniving and arrogant, not likely to give up until he gets his way. Yeah, he is definitely an arrogant ass, I think with a small laugh, gaining Luke's attention. He raises an eyebrow in question, but I pretend to not notice, and go back to my thoughts. The boy had really nice hair, though, and he was obviously well-trained. It would be a close fight if we went at it. He was literally golden, his hair, his eyes, even his skin was a beautiful golden color. He's pretty cute, actually. No, scratch that, he's hot.

"Did you just remember something funny?" Luke asks with a smile.

"Huh?" I ask with a confused look.

"Well, you were smiling pretty widely. Either you remembered a joke, or you're thinking of a boy," he teases nonchalantly.

"Of course not!" I lie with a sly grin. "You know I don't have time for boyfriends. I'm a busy girl," I smile, and realize the truth of what I said. I don't have time to be ogling at boys, and letting them distract my mind, even if they are perfect…No, stop that! The tiny voice in my head scolds. With a resigned sigh, I decide to forget about it.

"You're lying," Luke says calmly. "I'm very good at reading people, you know."

"Whatever, it's nothing, really. I followed a group of shadowhunters on their hunt. They ran into Agramon, and I saved their asses; they'd be dead if I hadn't followed them," I explain with a shrug.

"Let me guess, there were three of them. Two boys and a girl. One of the boys was tall, blonde, perhaps?" he asks with a knowing grin.

"So you are a mind reader!" I joke around, gaining myself a laugh from him. "Seriously though, how'd you know?"

He smiled from having guessed correctly. "The Lightwoods, they live in the New York Institute. I used to be friends with their parents, Maryse and Robert. They knew your mother as well," he sighed the last part with a sad look on his face. I stayed silent as I watched his face intently. His features flickered through emotion after emotions, showing sadness, anger, loss…and love? That can't be right, I think silently. They were just friends, right?

When he looked up again, I could see his heart breaking through his eyes, the windows into his soul. He stared at my hair with an empty, sad look. I look just like my mother, I slowly come to a realization. Oh my God, Luke was in love with my mother.

I knew I had a look of pity on my face for him, and his eyes widened a fraction when he saw that I knew. "Luke, I'm so sorry-" I start but he cuts me off with the wave of a hand and a sad look.

"Don't, Clary. It's not your fault, so you have no reason to be apologizing," he says firmly, but still gently. We lapsed back into silence.

"Do you know what the worst day of my life was?" he asked quietly, so quiet I almost didn't hear it all. I shake my head slightly, and he sighs and goes on. "It was the day of your parents' wedding. Seeing Jocelyn walking towards Valentine in that beautiful golden gown, it-" he stopped for a breath and to regain his composure. "It killed me inside. I've loved her since we were kids. I was the best man at their wedding; Valentine and I were like brothers. I thought he would never betray me, but he did. He took the woman I loved. He cast me out of their life when I turned.

We were on a hunt, infiltrating a nearby pack that had been on a killing spree. He was supposed to have my back; we were parabatai. He didn't even try; I was bit, and he dragged me back with him. The chances of actually contracting the virus are 50/50, but I got the bad end of it. I turned the next full moon.

Your mother and I kept in touch throughout the years, but we had to in secrecy. Valentine changed. He did unspeakable things. You don't need to know about that right now, Clary," he paused again and took a shaky breath. "And now, they're gone. He didn't protect her. You almost died, too," he whispered and put his hands on his face, rubbing furiously at his eyes with his palms as if trying to push the tears away.

I surprised him, and myself, when I got up from my chair and went around the table to wrap my arms around him. We stood there in peaceful silence for however long, until he heaved a great sigh and stood up.

"Don't worry about the dishes, I'll get them, okay?" I tell him kindly and he smiles sadly. "Go get some rest," I urge him. He walks away in a trance, undoubtedly still stuck in times past.

I swiftly gather all the dishes and scrape the leftovers into the trash, before washing the dishes. Once I was finished, I made my way to the guest bedroom, changed into sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, and flopped onto the bed with a groan. The book from earlier was left forgotten on the nightstand as I crawled under the covers and turned off the table lamp. The events of the day flooded back through my mind as I drifted to sleep, and the last thing I remember thinking about before sleep took me, was a pair of beautiful gold eyes.

I slept deeply through the night for the first time in a while, my dreams completely free from nightmares.


	3. Chapter 3: Welcome to New York

_When we first dropped our bags on_  
><em>Apartment floors<em>  
><em>Took our broken hearts<em>  
><em>Put them in a drawer<em>  
><em>Everybody here was someone else<em>  
><em>Before<em>  
><em>And you can want who you want<em>  
><em>Boys and boys and<em>  
><em>Girls and girls<em>

_Welcome to New York_  
><em>It's been waiting for you<em>

Welcome to New York, Taylor Swift

* * *

><p>I wake up around six in the morning, as I always do. Like most shadowhunters, we are just programmed to rise early. After groggily rolling out of bed, I do my morning stretches that keep me so limber, and shower in the small bathroom. I take my time, because when I am traveling, such necessities are not easy to come by. By the time I am done, the mirror is fogged up from the steam and I quickly walk the few steps to the bedroom that I am staying in. After drying off without the counter-productiveness of the steamy condensation in the bathroom, I change into a pair of comfortable leggings and a loose tank top with my lace up combat boots.<p>

Since Luke doesn't seem to be up yet, I scribble a quick note telling him that I'll be back later tonight. Before leaving, I snatch up an apple from out of the fruit bowl and grab my messenger bag. Today, I'll spend my time as a normal, mundane girl, sightseeing and doing whatever it is that tourists do.

I silently breeze through the foot traffic like a wisp of smoke. I can go unnoticed easily, even if I am un-glamoured from the mundane eye. My plain clothes attract minimal attention, and I chose to tuck away my flaming red hair as well. Either way, I've never been pretty, so I don't expect to attract unwanted eyes that way. My messy mass of carrot colored hair usually does the job, which is why I often try to keep it put away to stay inconspicuous.

What I lack in beauty, I can make up 3 fold with my combat skills. If you gave me a spoon, I could utilize it to do some serious damage. If I can do any damage with a spoon, you couldn't imagine what I can do with a real weapon. _I'll bet that I could take Goldie Locks in a fight, too, _I think to myself with a self-righteous grin before turning my attention back to the smoggy scenery.

* * *

><p>By the time I see Times Square, the Empire State Building, and the Statue of Liberty (from afar, of course), I realize that I would much rather have been hunting or doing something a little more exciting. Trying to act like a mundane turned out to be pretty…mundane. Boring. The landmarks were interesting in a way, but being a shadowhunter is my one and only true passion.<p>

After passing by a whole block of old, run down hotels from the 1920's, I decide to give Simon a call. The decrepit brick buildings reminded me especially of him because he _is _the vampire clan leader, and the majority of the bloodsuckers live in The Hotel Dumont, or as they dubbed it, The Hotel Dumort. _At least they have a sense of humor_.

I quickly hit the speed dial button for my favorite vampire friend, and patiently hold the phone to my ear. He picks up after a few rings.

"Jim's Whore House, you got the dough, we got the ho," is the greeting that I receive from his end of the line.

"Hey Si," I snort out into the receiver. "Guess who is in New York City at this very moment?"

"Uhm, let me guess… Probably not a fire-breathing dragon," he says casually.

"Nope," I smile. "Yours truly!"

"Seriously?" Simon asks in a shocked voice.

"Seriously," I assure him. The crowds of people continue to bustle past me in a rush, as if every single person is late for some sort of appointment. Just like ants, mundanes follow the leader, never daring to stray from the heavily treaded pathway of life. It's pathetic.

"That's awesome!" he says with genuine enthusiasm. For a vampire, he sure hasn't lost much of his humanity. He doesn't even drink from humans- he gets blood from an underground blood bank for vampires. "We should meet up. It would be awesome to finally meet the infamous Clarissa Morgenstern."

We chat a little more before deciding on meeting tonight at Pandemonium, an all-ages club where downworlders mingle with unknowing humans. Apparently, the theme is very dark and sexy.

_I guess I need to go shopping, then, _I think with a sigh. I hate actually shopping, but I do have a damn good taste in fashion.

_Let's just get this over with…_

* * *

><p>By the time I finish combing the infamous New York shopping district, I felt satisfied and ready for a night out. I found a tight-fitting mint green dress with ovals cut out of the sides of my midsection, along with my comfortably worn leather jacket and a pair of ankle-length booties in a lush black velvet color. The only pieces of jewelry that I really wear are the Morgenstern family ring and a couple of select necklaces carved out of electrum or adamas into runes. I choose to wear my golden electrum necklace with an angelic rune pendant on in, and the Morgenstern ring on my middle finger; I always have the Morgenstern ring somewhere on me, whether it be on my hand or around my neck, it never leaves my body. When it's on my hand, it makes for a <em>very good<em> right hook.

It is well past sunset by the time I am done getting ready, so by the time I am done, I leave Luke's place immediately and head towards the club to meet Simon. The chilly New York night doesn't bother me because it is a lot colder in Idris; it's in the northernmost part of the hemisphere, so the winters are generally colder.

As I pull my phone out of the inside pocket of my jacket to text Simon, my finger brush against my stele and the miniature seraph blade that I have in there- just in case. That's another example of how handy my ability to create new runes is; even one of the smallest seraph blades wouldn't fit in a pocket, but I created a rune to shrink it to the size of a pen. When I name it, it will grow to its full length, rendering it lethal.

"Clary!" I hear a familiar voice call from up ahead. I look up and blink in astonishment at the boy standing before me. He has on jeans and a gray graphic tee with a yellow smiley face on it- complete with fangs dripping blood.

"Simon?" I ask tentatively. You can never be too cautious. He grins widely when he hears my voice, confirming my identity. He rushes me, and for a second, I panic and my hand reaches instinctively for the blade in my jacket.

When he sees the worry on my face, he stops and holds his hands up in a reassuring gesture. "Easy, I'm not gonna bite you," he says jokingly.

"Not cool!" I exclaim and smile widely at him. He holds his arms open and lets _m_e come to _him_ this time. I hug him tightly and we stand there for a minute. "Wow. So we finally meet," I say when I pull back and hold him at arm's length.

"Yep, in the flesh. You look _amazing_, by the way," he stammers out the compliment, and I swear, if vampires could blush, he'd be tomato red right now.

"Thanks, you're not too shabby yourself," I return the compliment and take a moment to really look at him. Besides the typical pale skin of vampires, Simon has brown wavy hair and brown eyes, and his features are sharp, yet soft at the same time. In short, he's a _really _good looking guy.

He smiles and boldly wraps an arm around my waist to lead me to the front of the line. The bouncer, a werewolf by the smells of it, waves us by and we get a few curses from the people waiting in line.

"Vampire privileges?" I ask with a sly smirk on my face. He shrugs, arm still around my waist, and leads me over to the bar. All the stools are taken, but one glance at Simon and I clear two seats quickly; despite his silly t-shirt, he looks pretty scary.

"Something like that," he laughs and orders us two cokes, knowing very well that I don't care for alcohol.

"So how are you liking New York so far?" he asks in curiosity. I sip on my drink and think about the question before settling on an answer.

"It's…different. From Idris, I mean. It's a lot louder, busier, and the people are a lot ruder than back home, too. But overall, I really like it here. I could definitely get used to it," I laugh and nudge him in the side. "There's even an Institute here!"

"Yeah, sure," he mumbles, suddenly quiet. He was listening intently up until I mentioned the Institute, then he froze up.

"What is it?" I ask with a frown. He fidgets in the stool and looks everywhere but at me. When I prod him on, he gives up with a sigh and looks up at me.

"Let's just say, they don't like me much," he says flatly and nurses his soda in between pale hands. Since he seems so uncomfortable, I don't push the subject. Instead I take him by the hand and hop off my seat, leading him towards the writhing mass of bodies.

"Oh no, I don't dance," he refutes and tries to pull away, but I don't let him.

"Then why the hell did you bring me to a dance club?" I yell over the noise of the music and people. I pull him deeper into the crowd so he will be less likely to escape the trenches of the club. He grumbles out something, but it is lost with the surrounding noises. "Just give it a try!" I yell and let my body flow with the music. Soon enough, he gets into it and starts dancing as well. While my moves are graceful and mesmerizing, his are jerky and spastic, but at least he's trying. Plus, he seems to be having fun. Song after song come and go before I start getting tired.

"Let's get another drink," I suggest and he nods and dances through the crowd with me in tow. We bounce along to the music, but my bobbing and weaving is interrupted by a shoulder knocking into mine. _Hard._

"Watch where you're going, jackass!" I yell as I turn to eye the culprit, ending up facing a wall of leather. My eyes wander up the strong frame of the man standing in front of me, and eventually meet a familiar pair of molten golden eyes. Along with the golden eyes are his golden locks, and golden tan skin. How could I not remember this gorgeous man? Besides the obvious, I saved his ass, as well as his friends'.

"Ah, so we meet again," he smirks down at me as if I am but a child. I instantly go on the defense.

"Better watch it, Goldie Locks. I might not be around to save you again," I shoot back in an equally haughty voice. His eyes lazily travel from my eyes to my feet, and back up again. _He's checking me out! _I think with a slight blush, but I regain my composure before he can notice.

"I do have a name, you know. I'm surprised you forgot it; not many women do," he says, smoothly brushing off my snide remark. I raise an eyebrow, something I have finally mastered after years of practice, and cross my arms over my chest, not only in an attempt to look fierce, but to also cover myself from his greedy eyes.

"Oh, I remember your name perfectly fine, _Jace_. It's not hard to forget someone so pompous." _Or gorgeous_, my mind adds on of its own accord.

"I never did catch your name, Red," he says, avoiding my remark once more.

I shrug. "That's because I didn't tell you," I lean in to whisper like it's a big secret between just the two of us. His golden eyes bore into mine, so I roll my eyes and tell him my name.

"Clary," I say. "Happy now?"

"Well, _Clary_, do you have a last name?" he asks in a way that makes it seem like he is flirting. _This guy has so many damn questions!_

"As a matter of fact, I do," I reply vaguely. _Oh my God, am I flirting back? _I ask myself. I don't have time for this kind of mundane stuff. _You _are _at a nightclub partying_, the tiny voice in my head whispers to me. I am such a hypocrite.

"Well _Clary_, care to join me?" he asks while holding his hand out to me. One part of me tells me to get back to Simon, to reject the mysterious Jace, while the other part tells me to go for it. _Ah, what harm will one dance do?_

As it turns out, one dance goes by quickly, followed by another, and many more after that too. We laughed and twirled around the dance floor. He told me a little about himself, so I decided to divulge some as well. He told me of his hatred for ducks, I told him of my love for mundane novels and anime.

When a particularly slower song came on, he subtly tugged me towards him. I was so high with laughter that I let him, and wrapped my own arms around his neck.

We stared into each other's eyes as we swayed around the crowded room, but it seemed as if it were just us two in the universe. It sounds so cliché, but now I understand what all these mundane love stories are talking about.

_What am I doing? _I scold myself. I shouldn't be getting involved with this boy, shadowhunter or not. Despite my internal dispute, I keep my arms locked around his neck, but I lower my gaze in embarrassment.

Jace senses my discomfort and places a gentle hand under my chin, tilting my head up to look at him. "Are you okay?" he asks in genuine concern.

My breath hitches at the proximity of our lips, and he definitely senses it, for he leans in closer, gauging my reaction. "Yes," I breathe out the answer to his verbal question, but it also answers the unspoken one in his eyes. He continues to lower his face, oh so slowly, down to mine. At last, our lips brush in a whisper of a kiss.

"There you are!" a voice yells, and I jump back in shock. I look over to see the dark-haired girl from the warehouse the other day- the one that was knocked out cold. "I see you've found another one to reel in," she says casually, but I instantly go into defense at her undertone.

"Excuse me?" I spit out at the girl. "If I remember correctly, I saved your life the other night." Her eyes widen as she really looks at me for the first time. The way I hold myself tall, the fierceness in my eyes, the marks peeking out on my wrists and legs. I see it all register on her face in an 'oh shit' moment.

"So _you're _the girl he's been talking about nonstop," she beams, and I can't possibly stay mad at her; she seems very bubbly.

"Yeah, what do you need Isabelle?" Jace asks in a short voice, obviously annoyed that our kiss was interrupted. The girl- Isabelle- points to her red pendant as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. The ruby is encased in swirling lines of silver electrum, and I can see it almost glowing, or pulsing with its own life force.

Jace grins, Isabelle's interruption forgiven. "You wanna hunt some demons?" turns to me with a mischievous grin, and I can't possibly refuse the offer.

After all, demon hunting _is _my passion.


	4. Chapter 4: Excess Pain Births Talent

_Sometime excess pain that we experience may be best reason for birth of our talent and sometime our excess talent may be best reason for our pain.  
><em>-Rajendra Ojha

* * *

><p>Isabelle leads us through the club to meet up with the dark-haired boy, whom she introduced as Alec, her brother. Jace and I walk side by side, our shoulders brushing more often than not, and he eventually places a hand on the small of my back to guide me through the crowd so we don't get separated. Alec frowns and shoots me daggers. <em>Is he jealous or something? <em>I wonder and study him curiously, which only acquires me another death glare; if only looks could kill.

"The usual?" Isabelle asks the boys and they nod, but Jace looks a little reluctant to agree. Isabelle grins mischievously and grabs my hand to lead me away with her. "Do you have any weapons?" she asks and I nod. She seems skeptical because none are visible, but continues to pull me along.

"What exactly are we doing?" I ask, wanting to know what the plan is so I'm not taken by surprise.

"We're the unsuspecting, mundane bait," she says as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You put yourself out there as _bait_?" I ask in disbelief. She gives me a funny look, almost as if to say _haven't you done this before? _Then her eyes trail down to my uncovered legs and she shakes her head.

"We have to do something about that," she says and points at my marked legs. "What size shoe do you wear?" she asks, and I reply. "Great, we're the same size."

She leads us to the restrooms and hops up onto the bathroom counter, patting the place beside her for me to join; I oblige. When she hikes up her floor length dress, I see that she has thigh high boots on, and that she wants to trade shoes.

"Smart," I compliment her quick thinking. She smiles and nods, and when we are done trading shoes, I find that her boots reach up to just over my knees and I tug my dress down so that it meets the cusp of the boots. We hop down from the counter and strut out of the bathroom.

"Now," she says, linking our arms, "We reel 'em in." I laugh lightly and we thread through the club together until we come to a halt near the bar.

Soon enough, we spot a black and blue-haired demon wooing a young-looking girl, probably too young to even be here in this club even though it is technically an all-ages club.

"Watch and learn, Clary," Isabelle says haughtily and strides over to the demon posing as a mundane and whispers something in his ear. He looks over to me and I give the sexiest smile I can muster regardless of the disgust churning in the pit of my stomach. Isabelle floats back over to me and wraps an arm around my waist, so I do the same and we dance through the crowd, through a maze of halls and into the storage room that we predetermined as our rendezvous point.

The room is dark, the only light filtering in from the busy street, dimmed by the grubby windows. Boxes of old strobe lights, smoke machines, and DJ booths litter the room, along with cords and wires coiled on the ground, waiting to trip someone. I wrinkle my nose at the dust floating around, making me feel like sneezing. We wait for minutes before anything happens.

When the door opens and the blue-haired demon come in, he grins maliciously at us. "Two young girls, inviting a stranger to be alone with them; stupid, stupid humans," he says in a bored voice, as if we are hardly worth his time. He's trying to scare us; he probably uses the same line for every girl he corners.

"Au contraire, démon, we are not alone," I say smoothly and take out my downsized seraph blade.

"Though, if we were, we could still handle you," Isabelle adds as her electrum whip slithers down her wrist. The demons eyes widen and he turns to retreat through the door, only to be faced with Jace and Alec, both brandishing their seraph blades as well. I quickly call my blade to life, and it grows from its pen-like form into its full two foot long figure.

The boys advance on the demon and it darts to the side, but Isabelle quickly flicks out her whip and it coils around his legs, bringing him to his knees on the dirty floor. He glares up at us with pure hatred burning in his black eyes.

Jace walks up to him slowly, twisting his blade in his hands to instill fear in the demon, who has stared at me the whole time. His black gaze is guarded, but I can see that he looks scared and curious at the same time.

"Now, how shall we dispose of you?" he murmurs in a dangerously low voice. He runs his index finger the length of the sharp blade, careful not to cut himself. "No begging? No pleading? You're no fun," Jace laughs out sharply. Jace, bored with the demon, who is _still _eyeing me, raises his seraph blade up, readying himself for the killing blow.

"Wait!" the demon blurts out, halting Jace's advancing blade. "I can give you information," he says in a breathless voice.

Alec laughs. "What kind of information could you possibly give us?" he says spitefully.

The demons eyes return to me with a flash of recognition. "You are Valentine's daughter," he says, making my eyes go wide in shock. My father is dead, as is my mother. "Rumor has it, he's alive."

"You're lying," I hiss and step forward, pushing Jace out of my way. "He's dead, and I _know _he's dead. I _saw _him die." I hold my blade to his throat, ready to slash it and stop his rambling.

"You haven't heard? Poor girl, last one to hear that her father is really alive. I'll bet your mother is too, but they apparently abandoned you," he eggs me on, seeing that he has no room for escape and making the worst out of an already bad situation.

The three other shadowhunters stand there listening to us, weapons still at the ready, but they are obviously shocked at the reveal of my heritage.

"You know nothing." The blade in my hand jerks to the side with the sickening noise of its neck being abscised from the shoulders. "I have to go," I say flatly and turn on my borrowed heels to exit the storage room.

My mind buzzes with anticipation and nervousness. Demons lie all the time, and I'm almost positive that the creature was lying too, but it planted a seed of doubt. _What if my parents are alive? I didn't _see _them die, they ordered me to run as they lay there dying, or so I thought._

I weave through the crowd, shoving those who would not move. I was not in the mood to deal with stubborn mundanes, so I gave out glares by the dozen at anyone who stopped to stare. My mind was leaving me, going back to the day that we went on a family hunt, the day that my life changed.

* * *

><p><em>We lived in a secluded mansion in a very small valley, far away from any Idrisian towns. Every so often, my mother and father and I would go out on a sort of family hunt where they would evaluate my skills in real combat and help me improve. It was one of those nights.<em>

_We got a tip that there was a small cluster of demons that penetrated the border and were nesting in a nearby forest. I rode my Percheron, Miss Lucie, named after the main heroine in my favorite novel, "A Tale of Two Cities". My parents each rode their horses as well, my father leading with mother and I flanking him on either side as always._

_We rode for miles upon miles until we reached our destination: a dreary-looking mountainside bordered with a dying forest. We searched for hours until we found a hidden crevice that lead into a dank cave. Little critters scampered across the floor, water dripped from every surface, and the air was musty and hard to breathe. We stayed grouped together since we were in a new environment. We wandered and listened for any signs of demons for a while before stumbling on some evidence that indicated the presence of demons nearby._

_The smell of rotted garbage permeated the air with its bitter smell, but we followed it until we came to a room of sorts. Hydra and Scorpios demons stood clustered in the room, hissing in foreign languages. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered that those kinds of demons often served as bodyguards, but it was quickly forgotten as my father worked out an eager plan of attack. My mother seemed hesitant; she's a great fighter, but she doesn't like fighting often and she always goes with her gut feeling._

_The fighting goes by in a simple blur, we take out all the demons in a breeze of slashing, swiping, and jabbing. Before we know it, the demons are gone._

_Satisfied, my father turns to lead us back outside. We make it out easily, but when we exit the cave, we find the area splattered with blood, like red paint carelessly thrown on a once-beautiful canvas. My beautiful white Percheron lay slaughtered alongside my parents' horses, their beautiful manes shredded and lying in tufts on the ground. I draw my sword, ready to massacre whoever- or whatever- dared lay a hand on my Lucie._

_None of us were expecting Agramon._

* * *

><p>"Clary!" someone yells, but I drown them out, still heading for the club exit, sickened by the memories and in need of somewhere to empty my stomach. "Clary!" the voice calls again, and I continue pushing on towards the exit, which is now so close to my reach. The owner of the voice grabs my wrist and spins me around suddenly, and I have my dagger out and poised at their throat.<p>

Simon's scared eyes stare at me, sending distress signals. I place the knife back into my thigh-sheath and turn to continue walking. Simon followed closely on my heels, annoying me. "Not now, Simon. Leave me alone," I yell over the noise. He tries to ask me what's wrong, so I turn and push him to get my message through: I don't want to talk or to be talked to.

He looks worried as I tell him once more to leave me alone, and the bile rises slowly up my stomach, and I know if I don't find a bathroom or empty alley soon, some mundanes are going to be very angry with my upset stomach. Simon must see the sickly look on my face because he mutters for me to call him and leaves without another word.

I now have to race for the exit, and I barely make it into the alley before my stomach turns out onto the ground. Tears try to prickle at the back of my eyes, but I don't let them. I blink hard several times to force them back. When I am done, I spit the remnants of my saliva into the trash and wipe the back of my hand across my mouth.

I turn to leave, and head back to Luke's, but my path is blocked by the familiar leather clad muscles that I always seem to run into. Jace's golden eyes gaze down at me in curiosity before he steps back to give me room, which I gratefully use to glide past him in an attempt to leave. Whatever happened between us in the club earlier _can't _happen again. I can't be distracted with a boy.

To my utter dismay, Jace catches my wrist in his slim, calloused hand. I stop in my tracks and clear my face before I turn and yank my hand back. "Do you need something?" I ask sharply. He smirks at my brusqueness, but holds out a bottle of water, offering it to me.

I eye the bottle peculiarly as if there is a catch, and I'm just not seeing it. I don't even know the guy, and he's following me into an alley and offering me water. _Well, you did dance with him and almost kiss him, _the tiny voice in my mind says.

"It's not poisoned or anything," Jace says, jokingly trying to reassure me. I roll my eyes and gratefully take the water bottle, water-falling some into my mouth, swishing, and spitting it out to the side. With the horrible taste and all remnants gone, I chug half of the remaining water. "Very classy," Jace says with a smirk when I am finished.

"Does it look like I give a shit?" I say, using my 'French' to make the point. "It's not like I'm trying to impress anyone," I say.

"Really? Because most girls will fight fo-" he doesn't get to finish because I cut him off.

"Don't," I say, raising a warning hand. "I'm not in the mood," I say with a razor edge to my voice. Jace's smirk grows, as does his already inflamed ego.

"That's got to be the first time a girl's ever said that to me," Jace mused with a fake, thoughtful smile. I roll my eyes and brush past him and onto the sidewalk teeming with people.

"Obviously, it doesn't hurt your ego one bit," I say and continue walking with no destination in mind.

"Never," he smiles at me and keeps in step with my fast pace- as fast as my short legs will carry me, at least.

I don't reply, and since he doesn't try striking up conversation, I let him walk with me in hope that he will get bored and leave me be. Too bad that just doesn't seem to be the kind of person he is.

"You hungry?" he asks politely.

"No," I say, not really in the mood to go anywhere with him, but my stomach betrays me with a loud growl.

"Sure you're not, Red," he says sarcastically. Sarcasm seems to be one of his most dominant traits, I've noticed. Good thing I'm fluent in sarcasm.

"What does it matter to you?" I ask lightly, already getting pulled into the friendly banter.

"Just being polite. It's not like me to just leave a girl stranded and hungry."

"You mean, it's not like you to _not_ try to get into a girls bed," I reply haughtily.

"Are you asking me? Most girls aren't _that_ bold," he laughs lightly, trying to charm me.

"I can see right through your act, so you can stop it now. It does get a tad annoying after a while," I say and glance up at him. His golden eyes are staring at me with a curiosity that I have yet to see on him in the short amount of time that I've known him- which is only a span of two days.

"Can you, now?" he murmurs quietly, still gazing at me intently. I feel a rush of blood heat my cheeks at his scrutiny, and I turn my head, letting my hair fall around me.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" I ask in another feeble attempt to get rid of him. I want nothing more than to head back to Luke's and sleep off the events of the evening.

"As a matter of fact, I do," he says while glancing at the nonexistent watch on his wrist. "Do you have a phone I could use to make a call?" he asks politely. I oblige since it will get him on his merry little way sooner.

I hand him my cell and he dials a number and holds the phone to his ear. Then, a faint ringing sound comes from one of his many pockets. He reaches into an inside pocket on his leather jacket and pulls out his very own cell phone. I realize with a frustrated huff what he just did.

"Thanks for your number," he says smoothly and shrugs his shoulders innocently. I roll my eyes and snatch my phone back from his grasp, almost dropping it in the process.

"I bet that's not the first time you've ever used that one," I say in irritation. I can tell that he gets around a lot, just from his cocky confidence and the way he talks to me.

"I'm nothing if not honest," he chuckles. "I can admit to that much."

"Very smooth; I'll take that as a yes. Now that you've weaseled my number into your grasp, would you mind letting me be?" I ask with annoyance, frustration, and tiredness present in my voice. His sarcastic grin dims into a smaller, more genuine one and he nods slowly.

"I'll call you!" he shouts as I walk away. I laugh under my breath and call back a reply.

"Don't count on an answer," I say lightly and continue the trek back towards the comfort of Luke's small bookstore in much better spirits that may or may not be due to a certain golden boy.


	5. Chapter 5: Troubled Child

_Voices echo, from the past_  
><em>Decisions made for you<em>  
><em>Trials they made to touch<em>  
><em>Your heart, never found their way<em>

_War with yourself_  
><em>Makes you feel better<em>  
><em>Caught behind the lines<em>  
><em>Troubled Child<em>

Troubled Child, Journey

* * *

><p>When I woke the next morning, my head screamed at me to draw a strong <em>iratze<em>, and go back to sleep. Despite the fact that I had nothing to drink the night before, I felt hung over and miserable. I got up with a groan, did my morning stretches, and went to the small bathroom to shower before dressing and heading downstairs.

"Clary?" Luke calls, undoubtedly hearing my footsteps on the creaky wooden stairs. I wince at the volume of his booming voice, and promise my aching head that I will find some pain-killers to take. Believe it or not, even most shadowhunters used over-the-counter pharmacy medicines for small pains.

"Yeah?" I call back, and go to the kitchen to grab a snack. I search the fridge for a cold water bottle, then grab an apple from the fruit bowl. I hear murmurs from the living room as I crunch into the juicy red fruit, and I slowly round the corner to the living room.

"You have a visitor," Luke says just as I round the corner and I think, _who even visits this early?_ My eyes land on Luke with his slightly scruffy beard and over grown hair. I smile fondly, and my eyes finally scan the rest of the room. Everything looks the same. The comfortably worn brown leather couches remained empty, and Luke was standing near the door, as if he had just answered it. The blinds were pulled back, letting the bright early morning light filter in, bathing the room with a beautiful glow, making the whole place look extremely cozy.

I missed before, though, the man leaning against wall directly next to the window. The brightness bathed the room, as well as the familiar blonde that stood there with his muscular arms crossed over his chest, and his wavy hair falling in his eyes. He stepped forward, now standing in front of the large window, and I could see him much more clearly, without the camouflage of the warm yellow light.

"Wow, now you're stalking me? Nice," I comment coolly, apple still in hand. He smirks, something he seems to do an awful lot, and opens his mouth to answer.

"Not stalking, merely searching the whole city to find your place of current residency," he corrects with an amused flame brightening his eyes. "Besides, Isabelle wanted me to retrieve her boots," he said and also gestured to my traded pair of heels that lay neatly under the coat rack near the door. I roll my eyes.

"You could have sent me a text message, you know," I shoot back and take another bite of the apple. Jace's eyes seem to follow my every movement, from the moment I lift the apple to my lips, to the moment I lick the juice off of my lips after I swallow. It seems that I'm the new target of his affection. _But, guys like him don't dabble too long with one girl, _I think snarkily, not wanting to be his next play-thing.

Luke is still standing near the door, looking confused as hell and a little concerned at our odd bickering. I look at him, hoping to convey my message silently, and he seems to understand, for he excuses himself, and goes to the front, where the bookstore lays. I walk over to the couch and sink into the comfortable leather, letting my head loll back and my eyes close. I soon feel a shift in weight as Jace sits down at the other end, giving me my space; that, I am thankful for.

"What did you _really _come here for, Lightwood?" I ask, letting the exhaustion flow freely into my voice. He stays silent for a few moments longer that I expected, so I roll my head to the side, facing him, and open my eyes a crack. He is leaned back, in a similar position to mine, but his gaze is trained intently on the ceiling. As if sensing my shift of attention, he looks over to me, and his golden eyes pierce through my green ones.

"I wanted to ask you out," he said honestly, and with a shrug, he returned to the jeering jerk that I am (sadly) already used to.

"What in the world makes you think that I would go out with an ass like you?" I say sharply, trying to hide the fact that I _do _want to go out with him. What harm could one date do?

"I know I have a nice ass, thank you Clary," he says, not able to hold back, and I know that he is grinning like the Cheshire cat without even looking. He's way too confident, that much is painfully obvious, so I find it my responsibility to knock him down a peg.

"No," I say in a slightly higher, sing-song voice, showing my defiance. "I don't really think so. And to answer your question, _no _I will not go out with you," I say without making eye contact. He seemed stunned into silence for a moment, but he quickly recovered. At least I found the chink in his armor; his pride. Not a big shocker, really.

"Well," he says slowly, "How about two people going and getting coffee?" I snort at the suggestion, though I do really like coffee. He raises an eyebrow questioningly. "Give me two good reasons why you can't just go get coffee with me," he says smartly. _Easy, _I think. I can list about ten, but I'll settle for the two major reasons.

"Hmm," I hum and place a finger on my chin, as if thinking deeply. "Well, there is the fact that you're a complete and utter jerk. But I'm sure you already know that, as well as everybody else," I say and glance at him to gauge his reaction. His face is completely blank, but I can see his jaw twitch slightly in annoyance. I sigh, letting up a little bit. "And I just don't have the time, to be honest."

"No time?" he asks curiously. I nod slowly, looking him in his slowly de-frosting eyes.

"Trust me, I'm not in the Big Apple for fun," I say. I'd much rather be back in Idris, in my old home. But if I ever go back there, it will open the floodgates of horrible memories and death.

When I look over again, I see his eyes focused on something above my head, but I know that nothing is there; his mind is a million miles away, lost in his own memories. "Did you grow up in Idris?" I asked softly, not wanting to disturb his silent peace. Somehow, I feel comfortable sitting here with him, no matter how cocky he acts, no matter how rude I act just to put him off. I can't help but wander back to the night before, when we were together in Pandemonium, dancing as if we were the only ones there. Jace's body heat radiating onto me, his hot breath tickling my neck and stirring my hair, his strong arms holding me close to his body, swaying to the soft music; they all penetrated my thoughts as I studied his strong features.

At the time, it seemed absolutely perfect, but I can't afford to sit around and slack off. I wasn't lying either; I _am _here for a reason. I can't deny the attraction I feel towards him, he's absolutely stunning. Still, I can't help but wonder why he would want anything to do with me. I could tell upon meeting him that he's a player, and that he goes through girl after girl. His personality- if you could even call it that, rather than just a big head- paired with his golden looks was a combination made in heaven; yet I couldn't imagine him being interested in someone like me, someone as strong and fiery and stubborn as him. He was definitely the type of guy to go for blonde bimbos and faeries.

Yet again, I felt my hands itching to draw him, his facial structure, his eyes, anything to capture him on paper. My eyes followed his cheekbones, down to his low jaw-line, until they finally rested on his full lips. They came so close to kissing me last night, but we were interrupted before they could even brush against mine in a ghost of a whisper. It made my stomach flip thinking about it.

"Yeah, when I was younger," he says, startling me out of my thoughts. I'm sure my face betrayed my confusion, because he smiled and reminded me of what I had asked, making me feel like a fool. I had asked him if he had lived in Idris, before New York.

"What made you come here? It's so much more beautiful there. Less smog, less noise, more green," I asked curiously, listing off the reasons that made Idris better than this stink hole. He nodded, blinking slow and hard, pushing something back.

"My parents, they died when I was seven," he whispered solemnly. In that moment, he sounded so sad and broken, though the Angel knows how hard he tried to hide it. I wasn't fooled.

"Trust me when I say I know how that feels," I say and awkwardly place a hand on his forearm in comfort; he hardly seems to notice it. The broken boy is gone in a snap, and he is back to normal, eyes burning with unanswered questions. I knew this was coming, though, and braced myself.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" he says politely, shocking the hell out of me. I wasn't expecting him to ask permission to ask questions, I figured he would just blurt them out. I nodded and he sighed. "Your father was Valentine Morgenstern?"

I sucked in a sharp breath in shock, even though I knew it was coming. I lean back against the cushions and close my eyes, tilting my head back. "Yes," I croak and then lean forward to grab my water bottle from the coffee table. After taking a sip, I look at him, and remembering my manners, I ask him if he wants anything, which he refuses. "Something to drink?" I ask, but he still refuses, saying that he is fine.

"I'm sorry for, you know, your parents," he says awkwardly, rubbing his palms over the knees of his dark jeans. I shrug nonchalantly, not wanting him of all people to see how much I missed them.

"You too," I murmur back with sympathy. His parents died probably about ten years ago, since he seems about seventeen. I remember hearing about a couple dying, leaving behind a small child. The father died in combat, and the mother, wrought with grief, committed suicide. The Herondale's, if I remember correctly, were also close friends of my parents, especially Valentine. "Is your last name truly Lightwood?"

He looks startled, something I silently prided myself in since he seems so hard to surprise, and his eyes meet mine again. "No," he says slowly. "My name is Jace Herondale. My parents were Stephen and Celine Herondale." So I was correct.

"I'm sorry. My parents were good friends with yours, when they were younger," I murmur, giving him his space. He rolls his shoulders, stretching and shrugging at the same time. His supple leather jacket rolled with them, making him all the more appealing. I've always had a thing for guys in leather.

"I only go by Lightwood because they're more family than Stephen and Celine were," he says with little strain. "They weren't around much. Then when they died, the Lightwood's took me in and raised me. They're the only family I've got now."

I knew how it felt to be lonely, even when your parents were right there. My father had never been very loving; he was brutally honest and all he cared about was training me to be the best, which I didn't mind too much. My mother was much closer to me; we shared a love of art, and she taught me how to have compassion, although it doesn't come in handy much. Still, she was distant, always seeming to be far away in her own mind, leaving a small replica of herself to teach herself a lot of stuff that mothers should have.

Like the first time I got my period, when I was eleven, I thought something was wrong with me. I was so scared that I huddled in the bathroom sobbing until my mother realized my absence and came to find me; it took her hours to come. I was scared, and when she found me she smiled kindly and calmed me down, explaining everything to me. She even stayed with me until I fell asleep in bed, but after that, I couldn't help but resent her for not talking with me earlier. It was her obligation as a mother to be there for me and to explain the way certain stages of life work. She was so absent-minded that it sometimes seemed like she forgot she even had a daughter.

And now, I have nothing. I have no family to lean on, no mother to call when I get home sick. I'm almost seventeen years old, and I'm completely on my own in this world since the Clave deemed me fit to live on my own. Even they didn't care for my well being, when they should have kept me under care until I turned of age. Apparently, being the fifteen year old daughter on Valentine Morgenstern meant that I was on my own.

Jace's hand gently presses down on my own, startling me so much that I almost yelp. I look at his hand, and then up at him in pure curiosity. He smiles kindly, and I detect a hint of sadness in his golden irises.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, still staring into my eyes. I belatedly feel my breath hitch, for he is sitting close to me now, our thighs and shoulders brushing. I tear my gaze from him almost painfully, and also gently tug my limp hand out of his. _No, I'm not okay. I have nothing, nobody, _I wanted to say so badly, but I bite my tongue to refrain. "You're thinking about your parents, aren't you?"

My eyes shoot up to his in astonishment. _Is it that clear on my face?_ "How could you tell?" I ask. He shakes his head, causing long blonde tendrils to cover his eyes, and sits back on the sofa again.

"Us orphans can pick each other out," he murmurs with a bit of amusement. How is any of this funny? I raise my eyebrows in question. "I know how it feels." He looks into my eyes with such sadness that it breaks my heart. It feels nice, though, knowing that someone can sympathize with my feelings- not that I want their pity, it's just that him admitting his loneliness makes me feel _that _much less alone. It's nice.

"Why don't you show me to the Institute?" I blurt out, not even thinking about it. I wanted nothing to do with this man one moment, and then, suddenly my mouth decides to blab. He instantly perks up at the suggestion, and a sly smile slides across his face, making me doubt my decision.

"So you're taking me up on my earlier offer?" he asks nonchalantly, as if he knew I would agree all along. I roll my eyes and stand up.

"Being a shadowhunter, I can enter the Institute as I please. Going there with you is hardly a date," I chide and walk out of the living room, towards the stairs to go grab my shoes and a jacket. Currently, I am in only a pair of skinny jeans and a white 'Nirvana' midriff that looks like a normal shirt on my small frame. Despite the fact that I bag on mundies a lot, they do have a few select things about them that are great. Some authors, some artists, some musicians; but it's not like I'm obsessed or anything.

"You can hang out in here; I need to grab some shoes," I say, but he follows me up the stairs and into my room, probably just to irk me. He leans against the door jamb with his arms crossed, and watches me as I root around for my brown boots and tan cardigan. You never know when it might get chilly in New York, that much I've learned. He watches me intently while I grab my shoes from the floor, and I quickly straighten up when I realize why, and sit down with a blush on my cheeks.

"Ready to go?" he asks when I stand up and pocket my wallet and phone. I nod and lead him down the stairwell, and through the bookstore to find Luke. He sits perched on a stool behind the cash register with his nose buried deep in a book, spectacles sliding down his nose. I walk to stand before the counter and he holds up a finger without looking up, eyes still glued to the page. After a few second, he dog-ears the page and sets the book down. When he looks up, he seems surprised to see me standing there.

"Thought you were a customer," he says with a laugh, and his eyes travel over to Jace who is lingering a few paces behind me. "Going somewhere?"

"To the Institute, apparently," I sigh. "So I can check in with them. I think I'll be in New York for a while."

"Yeah," Jace says walking up to me and boldly wrapping an arm around my waist. "Hot date at the Institute, I'm even introducing her to my mother," he says seriously. Luke's eyebrows rise at the sight his arm resting around me and my suddenly rigid appearance.

"Yeah, sure," I say sarcastically, and accentuate it with an eye roll. I pointedly pick up his arm by the sleeve of his jacket and drop it at his side. "In your dreams, Lightwood." Luke and Jace both chuckle at this, and hard as I try, I can't keep a small smile from slipping onto my lips. "You guys done, yet? I'd like to get going," I huff after the laughing subsides, and we say good-bye and make our way towards Central Park; Jace says the Institute is close by.


	6. Chapter 6: Hard Knock Life

_It's a hard knock life for us._

It's The Hard Knock Life, Annie

* * *

><p><strong>Jace<strong>

Finally, we left the bookstore to take a cab to the Institute. I was starting to get a headache; it smelled like a wet dog rolled around in there, marking its territory. The dog- Luke, I reminded myself- seemed nice enough, though. He was friendly and I could tell that he cared about Clary; probably some distant family friend or something.

Except Clary has no family, now. I know next to nothing about what happened to her parents, but I know she was present for their death. Rumor travels fast in the Shadow World, and all I know is that it had something to do with a demon hunt; the stories were all different. Some say that the great Valentine was ambushed, along with his family, and that they were all killed. That's not true, though. Clary is very much alive, and I've seen pictures of the family before; it's definitely her.

I don't know the fiery red-head sitting next to me, but she seems sad. She tries to cover it up, though. I'm sure her father can be thanked for the tough demeanor. He's practically a legend among shadowhunters; he's led us through wars of demons that try to make alliances, but they were still too weak. He was an honorable man, from what I've read, and very valuable to the nephilim.

For once in my life, I feel like I can relate to someone, and they to me as well. It's an odd feeling; even with the Lightwood's I haven't opened up at all. I may open to Alec once in a great while, but that's only because he's my _parabatai_. I can't help but to confide in him sometimes. The rest of the Lightwoods, though, were harder to warm up to.

I was only seven when I came to the Institute, and I was terrified. I thought that they would reject me, hate me for intruding on their family. But they didn't; they took me in with open arms. What did I do? I pushed and shoved them away. They didn't stop trying, though. They saw me as a scared child and they pitied me. I didn't want their pity, so that didn't help their cases either. For about a year, I kept to myself, only talking when spoken to, and I often lashed out when I was upset or mad. I took it out in training once I was old enough to start, and that's how Isabelle and I bonded. We would train for hours, just trying to knock the other to the ground. Then, Alec started joining us too, and we would all laugh and play and train. Those seemed like the only times that I could really let myself go.

I guess as the years went, I stayed that way, training to _feel_, killing to be in control. Demon hunts became the highlight of my week, lighting up everything with the anticipation of the kill. It sends a sort of adrenaline rush through you, and like some sort of addictive drug, you can't wait until the next hit. It's an odd way to live, but for many shadowhunters, it's the only way. _It's a shitty life, _I can't help but think to myself.

"Hmm?" Clary asks, looking up dazedly from her concentration on the gray scenery. _Did I say that out loud? Way to go, Lightwood._

"Hmm?" I say back, and she looks at me in a very confused matter. Her green eyes bore into mine and stay locked there.

"You said something," she says, enunciating each word and raising her eyebrows.

"No, I did not," I say and give her my best confused look. It seems to throw her off for a second, but her gaze is unwavering and confident. She cocks her head to the side and skewers me with her words.

"Yes, Jace, you did. You said 'It's a shitty life'," she states matter-of-factly. "Seems to have just slipped right out." I clench my jaw shut, and she smirks, knowing that she has the upper hand, even if she doesn't necessarily have any way to use it against me. She simply won the last word.

"Oh look, we're here!" I make a grand gesture of pointing out the Institute to her. I tell the cabbie to stop, and he seems puzzled; to mundane, all they can see is a run-down church. He shrugs and grumbles something unintelligible before I pay him and he speeds off, honking and nearly rear-ending another car. "Right this way, Miss Morgenstern."

She rolls her eyes and saunters past me in her tight skinny jeans, and pushes open the wrought iron gates that lead up to the Institute. I take a moment to appreciate her backside while she walks away. I am but a man, and the girl is swaying her hips, for God's sake. I cat-call to her, mostly just to irritate her, but she seems unfazed if you ignore the bird she flips, without even turning.

I don't know why, but I just can't keep myself from egging her on. I want to see how she will react, what she will do. Will she try to throw a punch? Will she tell me off? I have a feeling that if I push her just enough, she'll probably do both.

* * *

><p><strong>Isabelle<strong>

This morning after breakfast, Jace and I trained together while Alec gave some lame excuse to hole up in his room. Jace seemed to be in a very chipper mood, so of course, I grilled him on it the first chance I got. What are sisters for, anyways?

"Not really any of your business, now is it?" Jace retorted when I questioned him. I rolled my eyes and threw another dagger towards the target, hitting it just near the center, but not quite spot-on. I turned and placed my hands on my hips, giving him a glare.

"Jace Lightwood, I know you better than you think, and I also know that you didn't just roll out of bed like this," I gestured towards his grinning face. "There's always a reason for anything and everything you do." He let out a loud, exaggerated laugh and doubled over to add to his little façade.

The fake laughter subsided in seconds, and he straightened his pack and crossed his arms, sizing me up. "Really now, Isabelle? I must have a reason for _every _little thing I do? Geez, cut me some slack," he said and flicked his too-long hair out of his eyes.

"Oh, cut the crap, Jace. Even Alec knows why you're so damned happy," I had said, and then I walked out of the training room, letting the click of my boots resonate through the cavernous room with a ring of finality.

Now Jace is off to Angel-knows-where, doing whatever it is that he does when he's not training or chopping off demons heads. _I'll just have Alec play detective for me when Jace gets back. _Yeah, I'll do that. I mean, they're parabatai, don't they talk a lot? That's what I would imagine, but it wouldn't be my first time being disproved by Jace's cocky personality.

_Oh well, _I sigh outwardly. _I have better things to worry about that Jace's good mood. _First item on the list is the pair of boots I let the red-headed shadowhunter borrow at the club- they're one of my favorites. I think her name was Carrie, or Carli, or something that started with a 'c'.

When I saw her dancing with Jace, I instantly disliked her. She made me feel threatened, plus, she was practically all over my brother, though that's a normal occurrence. Jace vaguely explained what happened the other night when we went on a hunt; he said we were all knocked out by a Greater Demon, but I don't remember any of it, and he also told us that the red-headed girl saved us.

Then, once we started baiting, we chatted a little, and she seemed nice, the kind of girl I would be friends with, but she was a lot more shy than I. _Huh, _I think when I make it to my room again. While showering, I ponder over this mysterious new red-head. Maybe she wasn't all over Jace at the club. Maybe they were just dancing like normal people? No, Jace doesn't do that unless he has an ulterior motive, like trying to woo a girl into bed. But, he was with us the whole night, give or take the few minutes that he lingered at the club after we left. He got home shortly after us, so he couldn't have gotten that far.

Jace doesn't just talk to girls for the hell of it; he either bonked his head, or this girl is just something else altogether.


	7. Chapter 7: The Promise

_If you need a friend,_  
><em>Don't look to a stranger,<em>  
><em>You know in the end,<em>  
><em>I'll always be there.<em>

_And when you're in doubt,_  
><em>And when you're in danger,<em>  
><em>Take a look all around,<em>  
><em>And I'll be there.<em>

The Promise, New Found Glory

* * *

><p><strong>Clary<strong>

As embarrassing as it is, the New York Institute is the first one that I've ever been to. It goes without saying that I was completely awed by the cavernous halls lined with aged wood and carpet, as well as the beautiful style of gothic architecture. But as Jace took me on a tour through the palace of an Institute, nothing compared to the grandeur of the library.

It was a room of three stories, with spiral staircases that went up to the landings and ladders on rolling tracks so that the books could be easily reached. The floors were stone and the walls a dark wood, both smoothed with time and wear. A massive cherry wood desk sat at the back of the room with loose-leaf papers scattered across the top, and a portrait of the Angel Raziel hung on the wall behind it depicting his rise from the Lake, holding the Mortal Cup and Sword.

When Jace led me further into the room, I heard the quiet murmur of someone talking, but nobody else was in the room as far as I could see.

"Maryse," Jace called, not too quiet, but soft enough as to disrupt 'Maryse's' phone call. When he called the name, a woman shot up out of the tall-backed swivel chair behind the desk with a hand held to her chest in surprise. The woman was older, probably about 40 or so, with long dark hair similar to Isabelle's and piercing blue eyes like Alec's. 'You gave me a fright,' she mouthed to Jace with her hand still clutched to her chest. You gave me a fright? Who even says that? She murmurs something into the phone and then hangs up and sets the phone back in its cradle.

"Jace," she says with motherly affection. Now I see why she used the choice of words. Her accent was light, but the lilt of her speech was undeniably one of a native of Alicante, and very similar to that of an English accent. She smiled politely when her eyes landed on me and flashed in surprise; I get that a lot- everyone knows who my parents were. "This must be Clarissa."

We walk until we are standing in front of the desk, just across from Maryse. She offers her hand, and I shake it firmly like I was taught as a child. My father always said that a strong handshake makes for a good first impression.

"Just Clary," I say and smile in return to hers. She seems very kind and nurturing, and a pang of sadness pierces my heart like an arrow at the reminder of my own mother. Thank the Angel that Jace finds a way to make himself the center of attention- I never thought that I'd say that.

"Well, enough about Clary," he announces loudly. "We should talk about me! I'm sure that I'm a tad bit more interesting." He smirks and nudges me playfully while Maryse gapes at him in astonishment.

"Jace Lightwood, I know that I raised you better than that!" Maryse screeches at him. I cough out a laugh at her response because Jace seems like the kind of person who makes his presence known. If she is his mother, you'd think that she would expect such a comment. Jace and Maryse look at me, both with a smile on their face; Jace's being loose and goofy while Maryse's is small and reserved, but still kind.

"I'm going to finish giving Clary a tour, so we'll see you later," Jace says while running a hand through his already messy blonde hair. Maryse clucks her tongue at him disapprovingly, but the light smile still remains on her lips as she crosses her arms.

"Will you both be around for dinner?" she asks and looks between Jace and I. I glance over to him, ready to let him answer. I don't want to intrude on their evening, but Jace doesn't seem to care. He looks at me with a raised eyebrow and a mischievous look in his eyes, leaving me hanging.

"Sure," I say unsurely to Maryse.

"Well then, I'll be sure to keep Isabelle out of the kitchen." Jace lets out a chuckle at her comment and turns towards the entrance of the library. He looks back at me and grabs my hand, leading me out.

The second his hand touches my hand, I pull it away immediately, but not for the fact that he so blatantly grabbed my hand. I retracted because when his strong, calloused hand enveloped mine, it gave me a small rush. Not like in books where a single touch zaps them with instant attraction, but I felt something. Just enough to speed my heart up by a beat or two and enough to cause a blush to appear on my cheeks- though just about anything can make me blush.

Jace looks at me in confusion, but I avoid his gaze and walk ahead of him out of the library. His footsteps sound behind me and then he is by my side, looking down on me inquisitively.

"You okay, short-stuff?" he asks. I scoff and stop mid-stride, catching him off guard.

"Seriously?" I say flippantly as he back-tracks. "Don't call me that."

"Easy, easy. I didn't mean anything by it, Clary," he says with his hands held up in surrender. I sigh and shake my head.

"Where to next?" I ask, trying to put my annoyance behind me. Apparently, Jace doesn't want that.

"What's up with you?" he asks and leans up against the wall, facing me. "You seem really on edge. Wanna talk?" He raises both his brows in genuine interest. Why would he even care? He's too immersed in himself to honestly care about how I'm feeling today. Or any day for that matter, since I hardly know him.

"I'm just having an off day, and your cocky attitude doesn't help anything," I say sharply. Except I'm not really having an off day, Jace is just annoying me.

"Hm, well I just might have a solution for that."

"And that would be?" I trail off, not quite sure where this conversation is heading.

"A kiss from yours truly, what else?" he gestures up and down his body with his hands. I can't help but to laugh at the proposal.

"Yeah, in your dreams, Lightwood," I chuckle and crack my knuckles out of habit.

"Itching to punch something?" he asks and stands upright from his stance leaning on the wall and starts walking down the hall, leaving me no choice but to follow.

"Maybe your pretty-boy face," I mutter, but he catches it like a cat hears the slightest of rustles. Jace slings his arm over my shoulder and pulls me to his side amiably.

"So you admit that you think I'm pretty!" Of course he chooses to linger on one little thing. I playfully shove him in the side so that he drops his arm from my shoulders. Through an open archway, I see a large room with high rafter ceilings and training mats strewn around, so I find my escape quickly.

"Oh look, we're here!" I use the same words as he did earlier when he tried to cover up his absent-minded word slip. He was so deep in thought that he spoke whatever he was thinking about out loud. I darted into the training room before he could reply.

* * *

><p><strong>Jace POV<strong>

_Women_, I shake my head as I follow Clary into the training room. They're always so moody and sensitive. Like a landmine.

"Five bucks says I can take you down within five minutes," Clary calls as she brushes her hand lovingly along the blade of a katana sword. I study her as she picks it up and weighs it in her hand, reading the sword like someone who knows what they're doing; someone who has had immense amounts of training. The way her eyes glint in excitement as she looks at the blade makes me admire her that much more. A woman who knows how to handle sharp objects, with skill and precision, is hot.

"You're on," I say and walk towards her. She hands me the sword, handle first, and shrugs out of her tan cotton sweater, causing her loose white Nirvana t-shirt to fall off of one shoulder, exposing a bra strap. I smirk at her but she rolls her eyes and rotates her shoulders in a stretch before picking up a different katana.

"Ready when you are, Goldilocks," Clary grins wickedly as she settles down into a defensive stance with her feet apart and both hands evenly splayed on the blade. Her posture suggests that she is all defense and no offense, but the subtlest of movements give away her game plan. A twitch of her wrist, the way she discreetly angled her body, they all suggest that she is not what she seems.

But, when she makes the first move, I am a bit shocked. She lunges forward and brings her sword down in an arc that I easily deflect before going at it again, this time in a sideways arc. Clary's moves are elegant and lithe, like a wild cat hunting its prey.

When her eyes meet mine, I almost lose it. The luminous green color of her eyes capture mine and hold them, filling my vision with a mix of red curls and eyes as green as freshly cut grass. Suddenly my palms feel dampened with sweat, but I know I haven't really broken a sweat, not yet. This one small girl is making me nervous, and I don't like it.

_Yes I do_, my mind tells me, but I shake it off before I get skewered by the little red-head in question. Well, I do like a challenge; this is just one that I'm not used to. The only challenges I'm used to come from the slutty girls who act like they don't want to take me home with them. We all know they'd kill to get in my pants, so it's not really a challenge.

Clary's different in every single way. She's down to earth, witty, and drop-dead gorgeous. Not hot or sexy- _though she is in those jeans_- but Clary is beautiful in a practical, elegant, dorky way. I never thought I'd like a girl like that, but here we are.

Clary's annoyed groan of frustration brings me back to the present. She has her katana point-down in one hand, and the other propped on her hip in annoyance. She gives me a death glare, making me smile slightly at how cute she looks when she does that.

"Are we going to do this, or not?" she says and gestures to our unused blades. I roll my eyes and poise my sword for defense. "I wouldn't feel right attacking you when you're oh so obviously lost in the clouds. Might chop an arm off," she laughs lightly, and her eyes tell me that she is not truly annoyed, just in need of a good rally. I can do that.

Light on my feet, I lunge forward and she jumps out of the way while keeping her sword at the ready. She frowns as she swings her arms over her head and down, clashing into my blade, and surprisingly, sending it flying to clatter at her feet.

"Whoever taught you how to use a katana wasn't very good. You're lunging like we're fencing. You need to keep your swings wide," she says as she wrinkles her nose.

"Yeah, well what makes you think that you're so good?" I ask in annoyance and snatch my sword back up.

"Besides the fact that I just disarmed you in thirty seconds? I was trained by Valentine Morgenstern. Surely you've heard of him?" She saunters over to the sword rack, obviously not wanting to at least show me what I'm doing wrong, and places her katana up with the rest.

"No need to get snappy," I laugh happily and place mine back on the wall as well. From my stance, I can see Clary's profile as she gazes adoringly upon the dozens of swords on the wall. She loves the fight, as do I, but I've obviously disappointed her with my day dreaming. "How do you say we have another go?"

She turns on me and smiles widely whilst nodding, and I feel a rush at being able to make her smile, even by just offering to spar once more. For some reason, I feel like I have to live up to something, to prove myself to this girl whom I've just recently met. The odd thing is that I don't want to just have sex with her; this 'chase' is more than that primal human urge to procreate, it's much deeper.

Clary intrigues me. She is smart, funny, and mysterious and I want to know what makes her tick, what makes her laugh, and what makes her smile. I just have to know.

"You can pick this time," Clary calls over her shoulder as she walks along the wall and scrutinizes the weapons, searching for something specific. "Ah," she says when she comes to the daggers. "You can pick, but I want to throw some daggers later," she says with a smirk, something more lurking in her eyes as she balances one in her palm and looks up at me. She turns before I can decipher the odd look, but I reach around her and grab the knife out of her hand, brushing the soft skin of her neck as I go. She quickly pulls away, as if I shocked her, but I can see the deep blush when she turns to the side.

"We can throw daggers now I whisper in her ear, as I am still directly behind her. It has the desired effect; she laughs softly, not quite a giggle, but something like a content sound.

"No, I picked the katana's, you pick this time!" Clary insists stubbornly. I laugh and hand her a dagger before leading her to a practice target.

"I pick this, so deal with it." She groans and rolls her eyes as I aim my arm and let the dagger fly.

"You are one stubborn S-O-B," she sighs as she lines up with her target and tosses the dagger almost carelessly, hitting the red mark in the center. I stare with my eyebrows up. She didn't even aim. I could probably do that, but I always pay the utmost attention when handling sharp objects.

"You don't cuss, or what?" I ask as we continue to throw an arrangement of daggers, throwing knives, and tomahawks. She pushes a piece of hair back, but when it refuses to stay, she takes a band off of her wrist and runs her hands through her hair, mesmerizing me. I could even smell the sweet scent of mangos drifting from her hair as she lifted it up and wrapped into a ponytail.

"Or drink, or smoke," she says as she does her hair, then turns to me. "What are you smiling at?" she asks curiously with a faint smile tracing her lips.

"You're a very sheltered child, that's all," I feign indifference, but she makes a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat, almost like a huff.

"Whatever, if you grew up in the middle-of-freaking-nowhere-Idris, you would be too. No TV, no phones, no radio, and a very strict father." She trailed off on the end, looking down at the dagger in her hand with a grimace. In a blur, she stretches her hand back and hurls the dagger and it goes end over end before sinking deeply into the target.

"Damn," I mutter in shock. I walk up to the target to inspect the target, finding the serrated five inch knife sunk in over half way into the wood. I grab the handle and jiggle it out of the wood with some difficulty. "Remind me not to get on your shit list, okay?"

"You won't need reminding. You'll know, plus it takes a lot to get on my bad side," she says with a shrug.

"Who could get mad at me anyways?" I joke, but with much less sarcasm than normal.

"Oh Jace, I have no clue who could possibly be upset with you," the sarcasm is palpable, yet friendly and comfortable. It's nice to banter like this with someone. Alec and I are close, but we haven't talked much or just hunted together lately, and it's a bit disheartening that he's so distant. Then with Izzy, well, she's not very tolerable unless she has a weapon in her hand. Otherwise, everything coming out of her mouth is fashion-related and sure to put me to sleep.

I shrug and walk towards the back corner of the room, a brilliant idea hitting me. "Come over here, I want to show you something."

* * *

><p><strong>Clary POV<strong>

Jace grabs my hand and pulls me along with him when I don't immediately follow him, and this time I let him. He even looks back at me with a puzzled expression, like he expects me to drop his hand. I give him a small reassuring smile and follow him to the back wall. There are ladder rungs built into the wall and I see the shadowy rafters when I look up, and they seem to go up endlessly high. I take my stele out of my short boot and draw the night vision rune on me.

"If we're going up there, I don't want to slip and fall," I shrug at Jace's odd look. He rolls his eyes and holds out his forearm for me to mark. I step closer and gently hold my palm under his arm to steady it, and then slowly graze my stele into the swirling lines of the rune. When I finish, I brush my fingers over the tattoo-like black mark, like I always do after finishing a drawing, admiring my work. When I realize that I have been holding his arm too long, I drop it. My former clumsy side comes out when I drop my stele with his arm and I mentally face-palm myself. Smooth.

Jace instantly bends down to get it, so I just stand there like a bumbling idiot with one arm tucked under the other, while I chew on my nails. I mumble a quick apology and shove my stele into my boot, keeping my head down so Jace can't see my red face.

"Ladies first," he breathes with a smirk. By this time I have recovered and I quickly hop onto the first rung, and swiftly climb up the ladder and to the lowest rafter- which isn't really that low. Jace is beside me in seconds and seeing as how the ladder doesn't go up any further, he climbs smoothly up onto the next highest beam. "Here," he says as he crouches surely above me and holds a hand out to help me up. I take it and put my other hand on the beam and jump as he helps pull me up.

"Why are we up here again?" I ask with a wary glance at the ground that now seems like a hundred feet below, though it's probably only fifteen.

"Afraid of heights, Clarissa?" Jace asks in a snooty voice but his eyes reveal his true meaning, a chink in his armor, if you will. I roll my eyes and crouch to launch myself up to a beam a couple feet away. My hands slap onto the wood and I use my momentum to swing forward, and hop up easily when I come back. I straighten out and look back at me with a wicked grin.

"Need some help?" I ask sweetly and reach my hand out mockingly. He laughs sarcastically and we race from there, seeing who can get up higher, quicker. I'm small and quick, but he actually knew where he was going, so he naturally beat me. By a lot.

"I win!" he declares smugly when we reach the highest rafter stationed behind a small window, giving an amazing view of the streets below. The sun is swiftly setting and I sit down on the rafter, letting my legs dangle precariously. Jace copies my seating arrangement and leans back on the wide beam, his fingers millimeters from my own.

"You knew where you were going. Besides, I disarmed you so quickly you didn't notice till your katana went down- along with some of your pride, I believe." He grumbles something unintelligibly.

"So, what brings you to New York?" he asks curiously and glances at me. The drifting rays of warm orange light set off his eyes like diamonds, making it extremely hard to look away. The tawny gold of his eyes were full of questions, along with awe and something hard, like the walls similar to my own. I keep to myself, only letting superficial emotions flit through my eyes occasionally, but nothing deeper than that.

"Just drifting," I murmur and return my gaze to the tiny dots of mundanes going through their everyday routines, walking home from work, picking up a child from daycare, picking up food because they burned dinner; sometimes I wonder if it would be easier as a mundane. I would probably still have my parents, and I would be going to school and hanging out with friends and just relaxing.

The life of a shadowhunter leaves no time to relax. It is fast paced, and extremely dangerous. It takes up all of your time, and then some more; it's grueling and demanding, and if you're not strong enough, you will be crushed like an ant under your boot.

"Well how do you like it so far?" he asks, not pushing the first question for which I am extremely thankful.

"It's okay I guess," I lift one shoulder. "Crowded, but it's a nice change of scenery," I say with a heavy sigh. "Like I said earlier today, I miss Idris."

"Mhm," he hums quietly, lost in his own thoughts, so I let him mull over whatever it is he is thinking about while I attempt to capture the last rays of light in my mind, so I might go back and sketch it later tonight. "Are you going to stay here at the Institute?"

"Well, I've been staying at Luke's," I say, trailing off unsurely. He gives me a puppy-dog pout, his golden eyes widening, yet they still smolder, giving me butterflies and sending fire into the pit of my stomach. "I'll think about it," I laugh and pull out my rubber band to fluff out my hair and re-tie it. I rub my scalp in an attempt to relieve some pressure from the heavy weight of the knot that sits atop my head most days.

"Can I see that?" he asks curiously. I look at him with a smirk on my face, but I am honestly dumbfounded; has he never seen a rubber band before? Regardless, I hand it to him. He inspects it and stretches it with his fingers, causing me to snort at the concentration on his face. He raises an eyebrow at me, stretches it back from his thumb, and lets it fly into the rafters, out of sight.

"What was that for?" I burst out laughing at his odd actions. He smiles and reaches forward with a hand. I slightly move back, but he stops and smiles gently before tucking a stray curl behind my ear.

"You look beautiful with your hair down," he says quietly and leans back on his hands, staring into my eyes intently. My breath hitches at his words- I've never been complimented like that before. My hair is a frizzy mess, though.

"No, it's frizzy! And curly, and carrot-orange," I retort stubbornly and twist my hair up into a bun, securing it within its own confines smugly.

"Clary," he murmurs and shakes his head. He reaches up and plucks my hair out, making it fall down onto my shoulders and down my back once again. "Your hair is a brilliant shade of red, like that sunset we just watched. It's really soft," he picks up and rolls it around his finger. "Not to mention, it smells like mangos, my favorite fruit as it happens." He smiles and drops the curl with a sigh.

My face is red, I feel clammy, and he's so close that I can smell the fresh scent of his soap, along with the soft scent of cotton like freshly laundered clothes. I look down and the beam where our hands lay, and I see his slim fingers inch towards mine, and I also don't push him away when his hand covers mine, and the other comes up to my face. His finger gently prods my chin, so I have to lift my head to look at him.

"Don't you know that?" he asks breathlessly, as if he is just as fixated on me as I am on him, and in that moment, I feel amazing. Weightless, elated, happy. It's been a long time since I've been truly happy. I smile a small smile, and shrug my shoulder.

"You're the first to say anything that sweet to me. Thank you, Jace," I say and pull my hand from his, using it to lightly punch his shoulder. "You're not half bad yourself, ya know?"

"Now, that's the first someone's ever told me that," he chuckles deeply. I roll my eyes.

_The more you get to know a person, the more attractive they become to you. Because everything you see on the inside of them, suddenly you are able to see on the outside of them. _

Unknown

* * *

><p>"Yeah, you just gotta get past that wall you have up. Under that, you're not bad at all."<p>

"I could say the same for you!" he says with a friendly raised brow.

"Yeah yeah, I know. Hey, how 'bout this?" I say and turn sideways so that one of my legs is tucked under me and I am facing him. "Let me get to know you, put away the cocky façade for a bit; it pushes people away, Jace. And I'll do the same for you."

He nods his head slowly, thinking about the proposition. "I think you have yourself a deal," he announces with that big goofy grin that I've seen so much of today. It's usually an annoying smirk and holier-than-thou attitude, but today I've seen the genuine, real side of Jace, and I have no clue where we're going- be it just friends, or something more- but I don't want that happy grin to go away.


	8. Chapter 8: I Am Not What You See

_I am not what you see. I am what time and effort and interaction slowly unveil._

-Richelle E. Goodric

* * *

><p>"Jace!" A small unidentified voice calls up from somewhere below us, cutting off our mindless chatter. We had been talking of our likes and dislikes, hobbies, the whole nine yards. But, I can tell we've only skimmed the surface- If Jace is afraid of harmless little ducks, then he must have some deep-rooted problems under that.<p>

"Just a second, Max, I'm a bit busy!" He calls down into the shadows, the sun long ago set, and the witch-light dimmed. I heard the boy mutter something that sounded an awful lot like 'poor girl.' "Let's go meet Max," he says with a slight smirk, but nothing compared to the intensity of before.

"And who exactly is this little Max?" I ask with a laugh. "He sounds awfully young."

"I am not little! And I'm ten for Angel's sake!" The small voice calls up with much more volume and soreness than before. Jace throws back his head in laughter and hops down to the next lowest rafter, reaching a hand up to me like a gentleman although he knows I'm perfectly capable of helping myself.

We weave in and out through the beams of smooth dark wood, carefully picking our way to the stable ground. The boy, Max, is sitting cross legged against the wall with a Naruto comic open on his knees, but the squint in his eyes and the way his head was slightly cocked indicated that he was having trouble reading it. I smile at my fellow Naruto reader and easily hop from the last beam, landing a few yards from Max.

Up close, he reminded me of Simon with his messy brown hair and dark eyes, the only difference being the slightly smudged glasses sitting askew on his nose. I do, however, remember Simon mention something about wearing glasses before turning, in one of our many friendly phone calls.

I leave Jace's side and slowly approach the boy. He doesn't so much as look up at me, continuing to look at the comic as if I'm not there. I sit down next to him and rest my head against the wall, letting him start a conversation, if he even wants to.

"Are you Jace's new girlfriend?" He asks out of the blue and when I look down at him I see his chocolate eyes staring up at me. I don't care much for children, they're dirty and whiny, but this kid seems alright.

"Girlfriend?" I pause with a small smile on my face. "Well I'm a girl, and I suppose you could call me his friend. But I'm not _his girlfriend_," I explain and he laughs a little at my attempted joke. Jace walks over and sits cross legged in front of us.

"_Yet_," he says and I burst out in a fit of giggles at his boldness. He raises an eyebrow at me in question. I roll my eyes and turn back to Max, explaining to him how to read the comic. Its really simple once you learn the pattern; it's not read from the left to the right or from the top of the page to the bottom. After telling us that dinner is ready and thanking me like a little gentleman, he left to go find Maryse, his mother.

"He's such a gentleman!" I say when Max is out of the room, leaving Jace and I to talk. He smiles- I take note that it's a genuine one- and stands up, offering his hand to pull me up.

"Yeah, he's a good kid. Smart _and_ witty- I take full credit for that one," he chuckles as I place my hand in his, letting him pull me up with ease and comfort. I smile at him fondly; he's a lot different than I once thought. Once you get to know his story a bit- if he lets you in, that is- he's actually really caring and funny, and its not all sarcasm either, though it is a big part of his personality. The facade, and the real deal.

"I don't know 'bout you but I'm pretty hungry," I say with a laugh while picking up my cardigan and messenger bag from the floor where I left them. Embarrassingly enough, my stomach decides to second my motion to eat with a loud rumble. Jace shakes his head in good-nature and walks to the door with me his side.

As we walk through the labyrinth of hallways, I can't help but think to what Jace said to Max just a few minutes ago.

_Well, I'm a girl, and I suppose you could call me his friend. But I'm not _his girlfriend, I had explained to Max when Jace added in _yet. _One simple little word, but what exactly did he mean by it? Did he mean that I'm not his girlfriend _yet? _Because as much as I enjoyed toying around with the idea, I have much bigger things to tend to, bigger problems, like the fact that my parents might be alive. I haven't had any time today to think about that at all, but I think the real reason is because I don't _want _to think about it.

I don't want to think about the pain I endured, the loss of my only family, to find that they're alive and have made no attempt to contact me for all these years. I've been in and out of town after town, just wandering until I found somewhere I liked. I don't even usually tell other Shadowhunters my name, some people are rude, and some people avoid me because of my heritage. I've even encountered a few people who act almost nervous around me, or at the mention of the names Morgenstern, or Valentine. It's so odd when I come across those people, because they've nothing to be afraid of, especially not me. I'm a great Shadowhunter, but I would _never _turn on my own people, that- that would be the worst betrayal. Just the thought of someone turning against their own brothers and sisters, the people who vow to protect each other and the mundanes of the world, makes my cheeks flush in anger.

Thankfully enough, the next corner we round opens up into the large, circular foyer that we came in through. The elevator grate was set into the old wood on our right side, while an archway similar to the one we are standing in leads down another hardwood and red carpeted hallway. We turn left and Jace steps forward to open a very plain-looking wooden door that leads into a wide, grand kitchen. The stainless steel appliances mixed with the dark granite counter top and tan tiles make the room look like a model out of a magazine. A few people mill around the kitchen and in the dining room, another archway separating the two. I could see little Max arranging some plates on the table while Isabelle, as gorgeous as ever, helped him with the silverware. Alec shoots me an odd look from across the kitchen where he was leaning against the island conversing with a man that I don't know, though the dark hair and lean structure makes me think that he might be the Lightwood's father.

"Smells good," Jace says and walks up to the counter by Maryse, ineloquently dipping his pinky finger in a bowl of what looks like mashed potatoes, and sticking it in his mouth. "I assume that you managed to keep Izzy out of the kitchen this time?"

"Hey!" Isabelle shouts and lifts a butter knife off of the table where she sits with Max and poises it to throw. "I am _not_-"

"Isabelle Sophia Lightwood, if you throw that I swear by the Angel, you will be stuck in your room with nothing to do but read for a month straight," Maryse says evenly, not faltering in her demands for peace. Jace snickers and attempts to dip his finger in the bowl again, but Maryse slaps his hand none too gently and gives him a very motherly look, one that says don't you dare. "You know better Jace. Why don't you be polite and introduce Clary to your father?" _Father? _I look at Jace in confusion but he rolls his eyes kindly and grabs my hand, leading me around the kitchen island and towards Alec and their father. Jace has been pretty touchy-feely, grabbing my hand or placing one of his own on my back to guide me much more than necessary. I let him, though I don't really know why yet; It's just nice having some sort of human contact after being alone for so long.

"Robert, this is Clary. Clary, this is my adoptive father Robert," Jace says to Robert while his other son glares at my hand, which still happens to be in Jace's. I smoothly pull it from his and hold out my hand to shake the older mans.

"Nice to meet you, Clary," Roberts says cordially and shakes my hand firmly, but not to the point of discomfort. "Where are you coming from?"

"Here and there I suppose." I answer vaguely with a shrug. He looks curious, but thankfully doesn't press that question further. But, that doesn't stop him from asking other question.

"Is Clary short for something?"

I fidget a little uncomfortably. "Yeah, Clarissa Adele."

"Adele. Beautiful name, but I don't believe I've heard that one around before." Now his questions are getting a bit personal. If he wants to know my name so badly, which is painfully obvious, he should just ask instead of beating around the bush.

"Yeah, dad, I think that's enough for now. Wouldn't want to scare her off, now would we?" Jace intervenes. I feel my shoulders relax that little bit more. "It's not often we get visitors here!"

"Dinner's ready," Maryse chimes from the dining room, where she is setting a large pan on the table. "You can chat later, let's eat."

Isabelle POV

Part way through dinner, I noticed the looks Alec kept shooting Clary and Jace, but mostly just Clary, dirty looks. Alec was sitting adjacent to me, with Jace in front of him, and Clary in front of me. As we settled in for dinner, Max insisted on sitting next to Clary rather than his normal across from mom; he seems to have taken a liking to her which I find absolutely adorable. Even my parents seem to like her well enough which is saying something, because they're not usually very sociable. Neither is Alec- he's usually shy around people he doesn't know. Having Clary around puts him on edge, as if her mere presence annoys him, which is so unlike Alec, my sweet and loving brother.

When all the dishes are cleared from the table and put in the dishwasher with everyones help, we sit back down at the table at father's insistence and chat some more, mostly talking about Clary and her talents and whatnot. She seems pretty confident and smart, but I can tell that some of the questions unnerve her, like when my dad asked who her tutor was. She would either deflect the question or Jace would say something to take the spotlight off her.

I sat most of the time watching the rest of them, only speaking when spoken to, and mainly just nodding along and smiling. Alec sat with his legs pulled up so his feet rested on the edge of his chair and his knees on the end of the table. He was now playing some puzzle game on his phone, and it looked like he was trying to tune us all out. He's my brother, and I know him; he's listening like I am, just in a more inconspicuous way.

"So Clary, what's your _last _name?" my father asks, leaning forward in his seat, a dog eager for a treat. He's always so curious about other people, wanting to know every little thing about the people around him. Sometimes, like now, it's downright rude.

"Uhm," Clary stutters and blushes, turning her face down to stare at her lap. "Well that's a bit, uh, personal." She laughs and looks up from her lap, pulling her gorgeous- but a tad frizzy- hair to one side of her shoulder and swiftly braiding it, only to come up short with no rubber band. I smile and flick her a spare one I have around my wrist. She smiles back weakly and ties it around the tip of her braid.

"I'm sorry," my dad murmurs quietly, sitting back in defeat. "My curiosity gets the better of me sometimes." Though my mom knows that she is a Morgenstern, she says nothing, for reasons unknown. If Clary doesn't feel comfortable giving her name, so be it. Maryse is very respectful that way. Alec scoffs in annoyance and stands up, his chair scraping back and ending the silence. He angrily shoves his phone in his pocket and glares at Clary with palpable hatred. _He hardly knows her! She seems like a sweetheart. _

"She's a bloody Morgenstern, for the Angel's sake!" He chuckles coldly and crosses his arms. "Why is it such a big deal? Something to hide, _Clarissa_?"

"Alexander! What in the name of the Ange-"

"Save it, I don't give a rat's ass about it," he spits and turns on his heel, burning through the kitchen and out the door. I look at Clary and Jace with wide eyes, also noticing Max's slumped form, probably hurt by Alec's outburst. Max is a sensitive kid, unlike the rest of us, so though it wasn't directed at him, he feels hurt by it. Clary's hand is resting gently on his shoulder in comfort, but her face and jaw are set into a hard, unreadable mask.

Jace has his head in his hands in exasperation. He shoves his chair back loudly and walks out muttering to himself about Alec having his man period. Regardless of the tense situation, I crack a smile at that. Clary looks at me in question, her features still pretty tense. I stand up slowly, careful not to scrape the chair like everyone else did.

"Come on," I say to Clary. She sighs and stands up, glancing at my father's shocked face and my mother's embarrassed and horrified eyes. She stands up as we walk by, resting an arm gently on Clary's upper arm.

"I am so sorry, he's usually not like this. I have no clue what's going on," she says earnestly and lets us go without another word.

"Dude," I yell from down that hall. "Alec, what the hell, man?" He turns and stalks towards me with a fire in his eyes that I've never seen before. "What's your problem?" I grill him.

"What's my problem?" he repeats mirthlessly. "My problem is that carrot-top midget that you've been hanging onto nonstop."

"Clary?" I ask with a raised brow. "Seriously? Alec, I _know _you, and I know that you're not angry just because you don't like her."

"Like you know anything," he mutters and looks away impatiently.

I scoff at his remark, because it truly is ironic. I pull the collar of my shirt down and jam a finger to the _parabatai _rune on my left collarbone, near my heart but not directly over it. "See this?" I say, a bit softer this time. "We're brothers, _parabatai._ Tell me what's wrong."

"I don't like her. She gives me a bad feeling, okay?" he says, but not even he seems convinced of his words. He's lying.

"Alec," I say and put a hand on his shoulder. "I know you're lying. And you know I hate liars, so don't lie to me. Whatever it is you have against her is your business, so be civil."

"Yeah, whatever, I'll try," he said in a defeated tone, his shoulders slumping a little as well.

"I'm here if you need to talk, bro. You know that. Just-" I pause, not knowing exactly what to say for once. "Just be cool, okay? I really like her."

"What makes her so different from your other weekly flavors?" he asks, not unkindly.

"I don't know. She's _real._ She's not some bimbo faerie, or some clueless mundane. She's strong and she's really cool to be around. Just give her a chance," I say with a sigh. I'm not an emotional person at all, even with Alec, and he's the one person who knows me front and back. He knows why I act like a complete dick sometimes, why I fend off everything with sarcasm, why I have trust issues. But sometimes, I wish I had someone else to talk to too, someone more than just a friend. And that scares the hell out of me.

Clary POV

That asshole. How _dare _he out me like that! He has no clue what that even means for me! My father was a great, powerful man, but he wasn't a God. He has some skeletons in his closet, I'm sure of it. Some people don't like him, some people would have liked to dance on his _grave_. And Alec just blurted it out before I had a chance to scope out the situation and decide for myself whether or not I wanted the rest of them to know about who I am, where I come from.

It would be like me telling his family that he's a closet gay. It's so obvious, once I actually sat back and thought about it, about all the dirty looks. Him and Jace are _parabatai. _That's the most sacred of bonds in our world- more sacred even than marriage, and that's a pretty big deal. As such a vow, there are of course, rules.

Well, most of them are common sense, really. Stick together, fight for each other, be willing to lay your life down for theirs. The most important one is to never, under any circumstance, _ever _fall in love with your _parabatai_. No one really knows the reason behind that, but it would probably impair your judgement. Love seems intoxicating, and as they say, it makes you do some crazy things.

"So," Izzy says as we step into the training room to pick up my bag, and the shoes I borrowed from her. "That was, uh," she pauses with a rueful smile.

"Awk. Ward," I supply, and hand her her shoes. "Thanks for the shoes last night, by the way." She says you're welcome and we continue to walk. This time I pay attention to the halls, and where we are going so that I can help myself by not getting lost next time. I notice that each door on both sides of the hall are spaced evenly, a majority of them sitting open. In each room we pass, there is a generic bed with no sheets, a desk and simple chair, and a dresser with a mirror hung above it. Some rooms are arranged differently from others, but they are all very clinical and impersonal.

Isabelle stops in a shorter hallway that only has about ten doors, which is a lot, but still less than the other hallways that seemed to stretch on forever. She pushes the door labeled with her name on the hot pink and sparkly black wooden sign. The room beyond is a complete mess, clothes lying everywhere among heaps of various weapons and beauty products. A giant four poster bed is in the corner of the room, taking up quite a bit of space, but the room itself is big enough to accommodate the bed and the matching custom vanity with perfectly round witchlight stones set around the mirror to keep shadows off of the face while applying makeup. The wood is a deep black, but the hot pink bedspread and silver decorations give it a girly hint. I personally don't like the color pink, but it doesn't look too bad in here and it definitely matches Isabelle's personality.

She shoves a bunch of clothes off of the bed before hopping up and sitting cross-legged, motioning for me to join her. I crawl up onto the freakishly high set bed and sit facing her with my legs tucked under me. Isabelle just looks at me for a little bit, staring me down, trying to figure me out. I can tell when she gives up because she looks away and rolls her eyes in annoyance.

"So," I say, very uncomfortable all of a sudden. Her intent stare and the silence combine to make me blush lightly, something that I still can't control despite my efforts.

"Why are you here?" she asks bluntly. I sit back with what I am sure is a shocked expression, though I am not annoyed because she isn't merely being nosy. She just wants to know the facts.

"I've been bouncing around for a while now. Just passing through, I suppose."

"You don't usually stay this long in one place, do you?" she asks with a knowing gleam in her eyes, like she already knows the truth. But she can't, not when I myself don't even truly know what I'm doing here. "You've been here for almost three days."

"Not typically," I say vaguely. She cocks her head and gives me a sharp look. _Damn. _"No, I don't stay anywhere longer than a day usually. Happy?"

Her eyes roll to look up at the silk canopy above us. "No, not really. I want to know what's going on here. You're a Morgenstern. One of the greatest families in Shadowhunter history. There's more than you're telling."

"Observant, much?" She laughs and gives a sarcastic nod, much like one I would give. This family seems to be full of oddities. A sweet little kid, a brooding older brother, and a fashion queen with a streak of sarcasm. Then there's Jace, but to be honest, I don't know what to make of him yet. I want to be his friend; I've never had a real friend before, and outside of his family, neither has he.

"I'm not going to grill you." Isabelle leans back into the mound of pillows on her bed, picking up a nail file off of her nightstand and touching up the edges of her blood-red nails. "That would be rude."

"Well, you're being pretty passive-aggressive, so what do you want to know?" I say and lay across the bed the short ways, making myself comfortable.

She darts up and laughs, clapping her hands lightly like a child on Christmas morning. "Okay! Why have you stayed in New York so long?"

"Remember that demon in the club?" I really don't know if I should be telling her all of this, it's so personal and I hardly know the girl or what kind of person she is. She seems like the type to gossip to anyone who will listen, yet I still spill it to her, the _real _reason why I'm in New York. "It started off with me just wanting to visit, meet an old friend of my mothers. That's where I've been staying, by the Williamsburg Bridge. Anyways, my mothers old friend Luke, is a werewolf." Isabelle stopped all ministrations to her nails and looked up at me with her eyebrows practically burrowed into her hairline.

"He was a Shadowhunter. He was my father's _parabatai_, but when they went out to bust up a pack nearby the borders, something went wrong and Luke was bitten. He got the unlucky end of the fifty-fifty chance of changing. My father cut all ties, refused to let my mother keep in contact with her best friend. He was harsh and cruel, he told Luke to go end his miserable existence- said that he was _nothing _to him anymore. As if they were never _parabatai._

"When I heard all of this from Luke, I was shocked. How could my father do something like that to his best friend? _The Angel do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me. _ That's the last line of the oath. _If aught but death part thee and me. _But Luke didn't die, he still the same person he was before, but my father saw him as a dirty dog, nothing but a vile _downworlder. _I just don't see how someone could do that to their _parabatai_."

Isabelle sat silently the entire time, taking in everything I say, nodding along when she needed to, sometimes shaking her head in disagreement. When I finished, I don't think either of us knew what to do, so we sat in silence, not uncomfortable like when we first came in here.

I really don't see how my father could have done something like that. The Valentine I know is caring and friendly to those close to him, and over all he's _loyal. _It just doesn't seem like him to have abandoned a friend, his _best friend, _in their darkest moments, when they were down and low, lost. It really bugs me because that's not my father. Sure my father was a bit prejudiced against downworlders, but my mother always balanced him out, giving light to all the pros of downworlders, why we shouldn't have anything against them.

Something slim and rough taps my cheek, and I look over and yelp, Isabelle's cardboard nail file almost taking out my eye. "What the hell, Isabelle?"

"Seriously, I've been trying to get your attention," she says nonchalantly and sits back. I prop myself up on my elbows and look her squarely in the eyes. "I think I understand. That's not the man you know, not the father that raised you, correct?" I nod. That's exactly what has hung me up.

"So you want to know more. I can tell that much- you're a pretty curious girl, Clary. That's why you came to New York. Because your friend Luke knew your parents. He knew stuff about them that you didn't and you wanted to know. By the way, correct me if I'm wrong, but that demon at the club really got into your head, huh?"

"Pretty much. But I have had literally _no _time to actually sit back and think about what he said. Got home last night and crashed, and when I woke up, Jace was at Luke's to return my shoes, and we ended up coming here."

Isabelle smirked in accomplishment at having guessed correctly. Then her smile fell and her eyes furrowed. "I know how they- your parents, uh, passed on. But do you think that demon could be telling the truth?"

"It's impossible. They're dead."

"Clary," she leans forward, speaking softly and placing a hand on my forearm. "Did you see them die?" I look down and refuse to answer, my eyes pricking with tears, but I don't let them come to the surface. I they do, I know they'll spill over. What if it's true, what if they are? "And the rescue teams never recovered any bodies."

"Demons lie all the time."

"That's true," she says and sits back. "But you can't help but wonder, huh?"

"Yeah," I say just as she yells "I know!"

"You know what?" I ask and sit up fully, stretching out my stiff arms.

"There's this guy out in Alicante, his name's Hodge Starkweather. He's like a historian of sorts, and chances are, he knew your parents well. My mom told me that they used to all be acquainted, but Hodge seemed more friendly with your father," she says and hops off of her bed with me in her wake.

"Wait, you know we can't just flounce in unannounced! The wards won't let us through if they don't have a forewarning," I say and tug on my boots and sling my messenger bag across my shoulders.

She turns to look at me from where she's packing a small bag with clothes and weapons, her hair fanning out over her shoulder as she does so a mischievous grin planted firmly on her lips.

"You can when you're the Inquisitor's daughter."


	9. Chapter 9: Land of Confusion

_Now, did you read the news today?_  
><em>They say the danger has gone away<em>  
><em>But I can see the fire's still alight<em>  
><em>They're burning into the night<em>  
><em>There's too many men, too many people<em>

_Making too many problems_  
><em>And there's not much love to go around<em>  
><em>Can't you see this is a land of confusion?<em>

Land of Confusion, Disturbed

**Clary POV**

Half an hour later we were walking through a portal I made, Jace in tow. When he saw us sneaking around, he refused to be left out. He tried to play it off as not wanting to let us go alone because we're _girls_, but I could tell he was just being Jace. I could also tell that he would try to take over our whole plan soon enough. I portaled us straight into the house designated for the Inquisitor and his family.

"I never asked before," Jace says cautiously as the portal closes up behind us. I look around, taking in the spacious living room with deep leather couches and a grand fireplace. My attention wanders to the french doors that lead to the backyard, where a small garden sits with ripe fruits and veggies, and immaculately kept flower beds. "But how the _hell _can you do that?" he asks with wide-eyed curiosity. I smile and bring my attention back to him with a shrug.

"I don't really know, to be honest. I've been able to do it since I was little." Isabelle rolls her eyes and leads us out, telling Jace not to be so damn nosy, but I don't mind it for once. It's nice to know that he's interested enough to ask.

"That's weird, Clary."

"Seriously?" I deadpan. "I had no clue that it was abnormal. Thanks for letting me know, though."

"Anytime," he laughs and follows Isabelle's lead through the house, dropping her overnight bag at the foot of the stairs. Jace and I follow suit, him carelessly tossing his a couple steps up and me gently setting my messenger bag full of borrowed clothes next to Izzy's.

"Where's the bathroom?" I ask on second thought and pick my bag back up.

"Down the hall," Jace and Isabelle say at the same time, Isabelle picking at her fingernails and Jace gesturing to said hall. I smile at Isabelle's eye roll directed at Jace. I enter the bathroom and use the facilities quickly before washing my hands and changing into a more comfortable pair of clothes- grey stretchy pants and a black sweatshirt so that I wouldn't be too noticeable. My hair is a dead giveaway, though, so I gather it into a curly ponytail and throw a baseball cap over it. In my experience, it's always better to go unnoticed. I slip on my black and white Nike's and stuff everything into my bag before exiting the bathroom to find Isabelle sitting on the stairs with a glass of water and Jace leaning against the railing, filing his nails with his stele.

Jace looks up at me with approving eyes of my dark clothing, that is until his eyes land on my hair pulled up into a black ball cap. He frowns slightly.

"Yeah, yeah. I know what you're thinking, just keep it to yourself. Carrot colored hair tends to stand out in a crowd," I say with an eye roll. Jace shakes his head and mutters a playfully drawn out _whatever. _What makes him think that he can decide how I wear my hair, anyways?

Isabelle leads the way out the front door, but before I can get over the threshold, Jace's hand brushes my arm, causing me to turn in question. "Just for the record, your hair looks nothing like a carrot. It's red like fire," his eyes are kind and full of some other emotion I can't pick out, something like wonder or curiosity that made my cheekbones flush a light shade of pink. I smiled and looked down and his hand on my arm before shaking the fuzz out of my head and turning back to exit with a quiet thanks.

Isabelle stands facing the door with her arms crossed and a hip cocked to the side in annoyance. She gives us a look as if to say, _really, guys? Really? _I shrug and laugh at the annoyance on her face- I can tell that we're going to get along great once we get to know each other more because we're so much alike.

"Why don't you just hook up, already?" she says and throws her hands up in the air. My jaw almost drops and Jace falls into hysterics while trying to shut and lock the door behind up, but failing. "The mushy shit is killing me!" She groans and walks down the walkway in her stiletto boots, not waiting for us. I walk away also, leaving Jace fumbling with his keys as his melodic laughs subside and the dead bolt finally hits home.

Isabelle leads us through the residential section of Idris- where the houses belonging to the Clave reside- through the little shopping districts with a farmers-market feel to it, and onto a quiet street lined with all sorts of shops. Herbs and tonics, weapons, gear, anything shadowhunter-related could be found here. Isabelle stops in front of an old book shop that looks like it comes straight out of _The Neverending Story_, complete with messily lined bookshelves, scattered papers, and enough dust to give someone a severe asthma attack.

A little bell tinkles when I push open the door, and rustling can be heard from deep in the shop.

"Just a moment!" a man calls from Angel-knows-where. It's not hard to see that he doesn't get much company by the way he practically runs to the front of the store, panting out of breath. Jace snickers beside Isabelle and she elbows him in the side, but it doesn't do much more than silence him. "Hello, hello! I'm Hodge Starkweather. To whom do I owe the pleasure?" his kind gray eyes sparkle and flicker over each of us, resting a fraction longer on me. His hair is gray with little peppered bits of black, as if he's still in the process of graying- and his hairline has also receded significantly, but it's partially hidden by a horrible comb-over. He seems very kind, like a grandfather would, complete with glasses perched on his nose and a rounded belly covered in an old sweater vest. How cute.

"Uh, this is Isabelle Lightwood, and Jace Herondale," I gesture to them and Isabelle says hello, but Jace has reverted back to a passive, bored state and says nothing. I roll my eyes at him, which he catches and sticks his tongue out in retaliation. "I'm Clary Mor-" he cuts me off with the flourish of his hand and waves us to follow him.

"I know who you are, Clarissa," Hodge says with a hint of joy in his voice, as if meeting a long-lost relative for the first time. I give him a confused look when he glances back to check on us. "Your hair, dear. And the eyes; you're an exact replica of your mother," he says the last part softly as to preserve my feelings.

We dodge around a few more turns in the maze of bookcases, with me narrowly missing a random pile of crap that stood in the way.

"Here we are!" he says and opens a door to a dimly lit office with a rickety old desk facing the door, and a few mismatched chairs in the corner. "Have a seat, children!" Jace shoots a venomous look at the mans back at being called a child.

Hodge shuts the door behind him and sits behind his desk, softly whistling. Through the small open window, a large black bird flies through and settles roughly on the older man's shoulder. He turns around in his swiveling chair and quickly scrawls something on a piece of paper and rolls it up, sending the bird right back out the window with it tied to its leg.

When he turns back, Jace has an eyebrow raised and is sitting in what was once a surely comfortable position, but now he looks rigid and distraught. I give Izzy a questioning look and she shrugs her shoulders, also having no clue what his problem was.

Hodge smiles kindly and sits there, just looking at us, as if content with having us here. To say it was extremely awkward would be an understatement. Thankfully, like always, Jace spoke up. "So, Clary wanted to speak to you about something, er, personal." I shot him a look, partly thankful for breaking the silence, and partly annoyed for putting me on the spot.

"Yeah, um. I'm pretty sure you knew my parents- Valentine and Jocelyn?" I say, ending off in a question, unsure of where to even begin.

"Great man he was, your father," he says with a kind smile and bends over to pick up something from under his desk. When he set it on the table, dust puffed out from it, making Izzy sneeze and wave a hand in front of her face. Hodge wiped a majority of the dust away with an old rag and I could see that it looked like a sort of photo album. As he opened it, the plastic pages crinkled with age.

He turns the photo album towards me, so I lean forward to better see the pictures. I gasp when my eyes meet those of a young red-head with familiar eyes. I sit back slowly, barely noticing my father standing next to her, along with a plethora of other people.

"How'd you get these?" I ask quietly, glancing back at the familiar picture.

"I was friends with your parents, and I was a member of The Circle," Hodge says and attempts to pull the book back, but Jace reached forward and slid it back towards him to look.

"What's the circle?" Isabelle asks while quietly looking through the pictures with Jace.

"Back in the day, when my parents were young, they belonged to a group that my father founded. They called themselves The Circle. They didn't like the Clave or any of their rules. They especially didn't like the Accords with the downworlders.

"But my mother and father got out when the rest of them became too radical. They wanted a full scale rebellion, they wanted to slaughter all the Downworlders.

"So, my parents left and settled down. They had… they had me and raised me. That's it." But that is far from the whole story, I knew it. By the look in Hodge's eyes, he knew it too.

"Clary, tell me why you're really here," Hodge says quietly and looks at me with pity.

"I'm so sorry for bothering you Mr. Starkweather, but it's stupid. I- I don't mean to unload my burdens on you," I say as I rise from my seat and Jace and Isabelle follow, silent up until now.

"Clary," Isabelle steps closer and talks in a rushed whisper. "As your friend, I'm telling you to ask. If this is sitting on your shoulders, you're going to be miserable, I know it." I look up at her with my eyebrows knitted together, unsure of what to do. I want to know so badly, but I'm afraid of knowing the answer.

"In a club the other night, we came across a demon who made some pretty steep accusations," I say slowly, looking down and my feet in embarrassment. Was I really going to ask this? It seemed so stupid, how could I even let it get my hopes up? I didn't realize it, but I am hopeful. I'm hopeful that maybe, by some great miracle, they're alive and well. But it's such a stupid thing to hope for.

"He said- he said that Valentine was alive." Hodge sits back in shock, shaking his head in disbelief.

"It can't be," he mutters dramatically, pissing me off very much. Why do people do that shit? Just get to the point.

"_What_?" I ask sharply. "_What _can't be?" He looks up at me with sadness in his eyes and a hand to his heart.

"The prophecy is true."

**Simon POV**

"Raphael," I say curtly. He nods and approaches slowly, sitting down across from me in the crappy office inside of the crappy old hotel. I really do hate this place. Being the clan leader, I have to be here sometimes, though. Times like these are great examples.

"Camille Belcourt, I'm sure you've heard, is back in the Metropolitan area once again," Raphael says slowly, the words languidly rolling off of his tongue with a thick spanish accent. "She has sent her subjugate to deliver a message."

"What was it?"

"She said that something is coming, something big. A conflict that we cannot avoid; she is positive that we will need her help," Raphael explains.

I swivel nervously in my chair, contemplating my options. They're very limited. You see, Camille is the clans old leader, and Raphael was her second in command. He is the one who helped me through my change, though I definitely wouldn't consider us friends- just acquaintances. He's very sly when he talks, careful with how he words everything like the Fey. He could trick a mundane into selling their soul to the devil and make it sound like a vacation on the beach, he's _that _good. For this, I am extremely dubious.

"Well did she say _what _it is?" I ask, turning my attention back to him. He shakes his head and moves around the room, examining the moldy wallpaper and not meeting my eyes.

"She gave no clues as to what this conflict is, besides that it will involve the Nephilim, and most likely the rest of the Downworlders," he says lazily, as if he couldn't be bothered to be here.

"A war?" I ask with raised brows. "I don't think that's very plausible. The Nephilim are strong, and whatever tries to come at them, I don't want to get in between." Raphael stiffens and turns towards me, his eyes hard and unreadable.

"Camille…" he pauses before blowing out a breath and crossing his arms over his chest. "She has made things clear, and she wants us to join her."

"Oh wonderful!" I throw my hands up in the air and roll my eyes. "She's threatening us now?"

"That is what I have gathered."

"Well, we're not going. Whatever it is she wants to achieve, she'll have to do it alone," I say with a shrug.

Raphael smiles and nods his head in agreement. "I knew I could count on you to make decent decisions."

"What do you take me for, an idiot? Besides, you kind of have to, I'm your boss," I raise my voice sarcastically and smirk back. "Camille's batshit crazy, man. No way am I going to 'join her side'," I say and send Raphael to give Camille our response, not thinking much about any of it. She's probably going to start trying to recruit from my clan now, too.

That's how I find myself standing on the balcony of an old ballroom an hour later, hoping that the floor will not cave out under Raphael and I. A majority of the vampires stood gathered around the ballroom, some lounging in chairs or on the floor, and some sitting in the shadows, waiting to bolt for dinner.

Since I've come in, I had to establish some tight rules. Most don't like them, but I will not allow them to feed from unwilling people; it's sick enough to have to _drink _blood to survive, but to force yourself upon some unsuspecting mundane? That is wrong. So, they can either get blood from the warlocks at the blood bank, or they can find someone willing. As per the Accords, vampires are forbidden from draining a person completely. I would personally escort them to the Clave if that were to happen.

Moans and groans came through the crowd when I explained vaguely what Camille was up to, and basically told them to stay clear of her. Naturally, there were some who disagreed with my decision. They already don't like me or my rules, and I know they're all on the edge at the moment, waiting to either try to overthrow me, or leave. At this point, I really don't care if they _like _me, so long as they follow my guidelines. So when someone decides to speak up, I put up a cold demeanor and reply with as much ferocity as I can manage.

"Why don't we have a say in this?" a young vampire yelled from the crowd, gathering a few nods of agreement.

"Because, the last time I checked, I am in charge of this coven," I say strongly and evenly, my eyes flashing dangerously as my voice raises in volume. "And if any of you oppose, feel free to leave. But keep in mind, you will not be under the protection of this clan any longer if you choose to leave. If you stay in this area and disrupt the peace, you will be hunted." I pause and take a sweeping glance around the room, eyeing the ones most likely to rebel. "And you _will_ be killed."

Needless to say, they all backed down.


	10. Chapter 10

**This has taken such a long time! BUT, I'm finally on a much more stable pathways with this story (I think). **

**Also, I think I need a back-up beta. My requirements are the same as fanfictions. Prior writing experience posted on this site (I have to be able to see how well you write.) Very basic editing- spelling errors, grammar, etc. I need somebody with critical eyes- I want to be able to talk and discuss my story. I need feed back, serious feedback. As much as I love my readers' reviews, I need depth. I know, sounds like I'm describing my ideal husband, but it is what it is. NOW! On we go (: **

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Mortal Instruments.**

* * *

><p>Of all the crazy things I've witnessed, listened to, and been told, this one is by far the most outrageous one. I don't believe in fate or chance, I believe that we are given a choice with everything we do. So unless my whole life has been choreographed by someone that hides in the shadows, there's no way that a 'prophecy' made before my birth can be true in any way, shape, or form.<p>

Isabelle, on the other hand, looks intrigued by the idea of it all and sits on the edge of her seat while this old man drones on about something that I cannot keep my focus on. Isabelle's smart and all, but she likes to give into the outlandish aspects of life. I suppose in a world where faeries, werewolves, vampires, and warlocks preside, that's not too far out at all.

It's too far fetched to be true, and I have an odd feeling about the whole ordeal. The way he twitches nervously and looks around as if someone is watching him does not put me at ease.

I don't even bother to observe Jace- he's cautious and unforgiving with everyone and everything from what I can tell. I look at him out of the corner of my eye and raise a brow at him, questioning what he is feeling about the whole thing. He subtly shakes his head in answer and I sigh, sitting up straighter.

"Mr. Starkweather, I'm so pleased to have met you, but my friends and I must be on our way," I say with an empty smile on my lips. He looks worried for a second before he stands and clasps his hands in front of his pot-bellied stomach.

"Of course! Could I interest you in some tea before you leave? I feel so rude to not have offered earlier," he trails off with a hopeful smile. I shake my head and let out a little laugh of discomfort.

"I really am sorry, but we have a lot we need to be doing around town, and the sun doesn't wait for us," I say and turn to let myself out, Jace standing in the doorway already.

"Oh, yes, well maybe next time, I suppose?" he says with a creepy smile on his face as he shoo's us out of his little clustered office and into the hallway. We twist through the hallways, each step bringing us closer to the exit, but also making the walkway seem smaller and smaller. Something is definitely off and I instinctively reach for the dagger at my belt, while studying Jace's back for signs of worry- he's tensed throughout and his hand rests on the blade at his belt like a police officer with their gun. I glance back and see Isabelle with the handle of her whip in hand and the rest loosely coiled on her wrist.

_Not good. Really, _really, _not good! _I scream at my common sense. I look forward again without chancing a glance at the creep behind Isabelle. Out of nowhere, Jace stops in his tracks and pushes me behind him, yanking Isabelle by the wrist as well. I gasp at the sudden movement and push him out of the way in annoyance. Whatever it is, I want to see and besides, he has no right to keep me from it.

"Clary!" he growls, pulling me back again in warning. This time I stop and throw my hands onto my hips, glaring up at him.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing?" I hiss at him but he ignores me and pulls a seraph blade from his belt. At that, I know something bad is waiting up ahead, so I take out my angel blade as well. "Move!" I shove past him, and falter in step the second I step out from behind him, no longer caring that he is grabbing at my wrist still.

Standing in front of us is a group of men, all immaculately dressed in stylish black suits, something uncommon in Idris at all, let alone Alicante. All of them stand there, staring at us with piercingly dark eyes, taking us in and sizing us up; there are three men inside, and judging by the shadows I can see through the windows, even more waiting outside.

What really makes me falter is not that there are weird people here, probably for us, but it is _who _they are. Emil Pangborn, his scraggly gray moustache and pointed beard trimmed to perfection as always, grinned at me, his unsettling pointed teeth greeting me and resurfacing childhood nightmares from them- he was a friend of my father's. Then there was also Samuell Blackwell, his short black hair and oddly shiny skin, like it was stretched too far over his bones, who glared at me as he did when I was young.

The last man stood closer to our little group than the rest, his black pinstriped suit making him look like he was a 1920's mob boss. His slick almost white blond hair that fascinated me when I was a child hung loose on his shoulders. It reminded me of when he would sit in front of me on the ground and let me practice braiding his hair. When my eyes met his dark ones they were much warmer than anybody else's, but they could've been sky blue for all I care.

My father, the man who raised me and loved me unconditionally stood directly in front of me, his eyes smiling as much as his lips. A sob racked my body and I let the tears flow for the first time in ages, falling into my father's arms and holding him as if my life depended on it. He soothed me with shushes and quiet whispers, hugging me back just as tightly.

All I would utter through my sobs and hiccups was, "Daddy."

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><p><strong>I've made a poll and it is very important for you all to go to my page and view the poll! Vote! Important stuff there. GO. Oh and review please(:<strong>


	11. Chapter 11: Full Circle

_Life is a full circle, widening until it joins the circle motions of the infinite. _

-Anais Nin

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><p>I've been shadowing her for about a month now; as soon as I found out about <em>his <em>latest plans. She's gone through Toronto, Seattle, and Los Angeles, sticking with the big cities so it's easier to hide out in. Since it's been years since we've spoken, I'm not too sure what she's up to, but I trust her judgement to take her where she needs to be. She's brilliant, after all.

It's a hell of a lot harder to trail her, though. Big cities mean that there are too many places to hide, and no matter how good of a tracker you are, it's a pain in the ass. Obviously I've managed, though, since I'm walking around Alicante's older sector, where the houses are smaller and a lot older-looking. I find a little café near the bookshop she and her friends went into, waiting them out. I can partially see the entrance, but I hope they don't sneak out the back. That would be bad.

Since Hodge Starkweather used to be a puppet of my father's, one of many, he would do anything to gain his trust again. Like a coward, Starkweather ran from The Circle when things got rocky. Mom had already stepped back, but she stayed with Valentine because she knew a betrayal like that would be very bad, even if she was his wife. He'd hurt her in the only way he could. Through us.

It's sick to think that a father would hurt his own children, but it happens all the time in both the mundane world and the shadowhunting community. The fact is that there are horrible people out there. Though one of those vile people lived with and raised us, mom made sure to keep Clary and I out of harms way at least with father, but I saw through the façade. Clary was much more oblivious; I don't think she even knows his true nature now.

She's always sort of idolized his steely stature and indifferent attitude towards everybody. He's one of the best of his age, of course she would worship his every step. It's gonna be hard to convince her that he's not the saint she sees him as.

For now, we'll have to go little by little. So long as they see Valentine and believe his sob story, everything should go smoothly. One can only hope…

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><p><strong>Clary<strong>

Father holds me as I cry and rubs my back in soothing circles, whispering encouraging words of strength in my ear. I can pull myself together easily enough, but it's been so long and I just don't want to let go for fear that it'll disappear like a puff of dust.

My father, my dad who has trained me to be the strong woman I am is here in front of me when I thought him to be dead along with mom- is she really okay too? Why did he leave me in the first place?

"It's okay, sweetheart," he whispers to me, and after a bit, I can breathe again. Not only because the tears are gone, but because everything's so much better in any and every way possible. Like I'm floating.

"Dad...?" I ask, pulling back and looking up into his dark, warm eyes. He smiles and places a hands on my cheeks, holding me at a distance.

"It's only been months, and you look so grown up already," he says. "I have a lot I need to tell you, Clarissa." He only ever calls me Clarissa when it pertains to something serious or if I'm in trouble…

Unable to form a coherent sentence like a normal human being, I nod. The shifting of weight on the hardwood floors behind me bring me out of the shit-storm that is my mind. I turn around and see Isabelle standing there, looking awkward and out of place among the stacks of old books.

Do I just leave them all? They can take care of themselves…

"Um, can I just meet up with you guys some other time?" I ask tentatively. Isabelle shrugs, but she's chewing on her lip like a piece of gum. Jace is standing closer to me, with his arms crossed and a blank look on his face. Even though his face is clear of emotion, the tense energy coming off of him tells otherwise.

I reach up and put my hand on his forearm. His eyes flick down to gaze at me, his head never moving. He looks almost intimidating that way but it makes his eyes look a lot darker than usual.

"Jace?" I ask under my breath. He relaxes a little and nods towards the door. I turn back to my father and smile slightly. "Daddy, do you mind if I see my friends out?"

He looks between Jace and I as if trying to read something into us. I drop my hand, realizing how close we are and how it must look. Whoops.

"Go ahead, just keep it quick. We have to get going," he says with a curt nod, back to business. This is how he usually acts- very professional and detached. It doesn't even matter, though, because he's _here. _Right in front of me.

Jace steps forward, followed by Isabelle, and then me in the rear. When we step out, the two men standing outside go in to give us privacy. Good, because I have no clue what has gotten into Jace…

"What's wrong?" I ask Jace once we walk a little bit away from the bookshop. When Jace doesn't say anything, I sigh in frustration and start walking back to the shop. "Listen, I don't have time for your shit, Jace!" I say a little too harshly.

"Clary, stop." He says it so calmly and smoothly but I can't _not _stop walking. So, I turn back and cross my arms over my chest in annoyance.

"Yes, Jace?" I say sarcastically.

"I don't think you should go back in there."

"Are you shitting me right now?" I yell at him. When I look to Isabelle, she's looking away from me but nodding in agreement. "So, you're telling me that I should walk away from my father, whom I haven't seen in years and thought was dead? Is that right?"

"You _do _hear yourself, don't you?" Jace says condescendingly. "Clary, the man's supposed to be _dead._ Even if he has somehow miraculously survived, the Clave should have found him by now." I shake my head, tears coming to my eyes. It doesn't matter how it sounds, it hurts. I don't care either way; this is my _father._

"What are you saying then, Jace?" I say sharply.

"People who don't want to be found tend to have a damn good reason," he says flatly. "He hasn't even tried to contact you, Clary," he says in a softer tone. I feel a soft hand on my arm and spin on the girl.

"Clary, he's right. You know that," she says, looking at me through pitying eyes.

"I don't care! It's my _dad, _Isabelle. The man who raised me. I'm going with him," I say with a tone of finality before turning and leaving them and returning to my father.

* * *

><p>She's going back inside, that's good. She has to at least hear him out, because I'm not going to force anything on her, no matter how bad his plans are. Unless, of course, they involve hurting people... Even I'd like to think that he wouldn't stoop so low.<p>

I had to draw a fresh enhanced hearing rune to listen in on them, but I got what I needed. Clary went back inside, and the other two, Jace Herondale and Isabelle Lightwood, walked slowly away. _It's now or never, I guess._

I get up and sling the backpack up, letting it settle between my shoulders. I throw a couple of bills on the little café table and quickly walk along the sidewalk, keeping pace with them on the other side of the road. Eventually I get up ahead of them and then cross the street so that we're on the same side.

I can hear them speaking warily about me, of course they noticed, so I decide to give up the façade and stop in my tracks and turn towards them. Their weapons are already out so I raise my hands in surrender.

"Why are you following us?" Jace calls out.

"Sorry man, I didn't mean to worry you. You two know my sister, and I need your help," I say, pulling down my hood.

"I'm Jonathan Morgenstern."

The girl, Isabelle, gasps at my hair, which is almost white-blonde like my father's. While I got my smooth complexion and hair from our father, Clary got her red curls and freckles from mom. We both have her deep green eyes, though, and I think that's what freaks them out.

"Clary has a brother?" Isabelle sputters out in disbelief.

"Yeah," I say sheepishly. I guess things are worse than I thought they'd be if she can't even mention me.

"Wow," Jace whispers, looking down the street towards the old bookshop.

"Yeah. Valentine Morgenstern and Jocelyn Fairchild are my parents. They were attacked a few years ago while on a hunt with Clary; they supposedly died."

"Well, obviously not, Valentine's in that shop with Clary!" Jace said. I roll my eyes. So perspective.

"I know. And that's bad. Really, _really _bad," I say again. "He's been in hiding out with a bad crowd."

"Why would he lead Clary to think he's dead?" Jace asked in annoyance. "She was only fourteen for the Angel's sake!"

"I know, why do you think I'm here?" I say smartly. Isabelle's head snaps up.

"Wait. While all this was happening, where the hell were _you_?" The question of the moment, at last. They'll probably think I'm a hypocrite, but it was for a good reason.

"I ran away; I knew all of this was coming. I knew my dad was going off the deep end. He's always been unstable and a bit off, no matter how good he was at covering it up. Don't get me wrong, he was a great father. The wrong people have just gotten into his head, manipulated him.

"When I found out, I had to do something. Our mother knew but couldn't do anything; she was too in love with him. I was sixteen at the time; I was old enough to be on my own and know how to handle myself. I couldn't take the proper precautions to protect Clary from home.

"Plus, I knew that my father was planning the attack and faking his death. Mom and Clary were supposed to get away, but…"

"He set it all up and put them in danger…?" Isabelle said sadly.

"He killed his own _wife_," Jace seethed, even though he didn't know her personally. I have to look down and take a breath to keep it in check. It's all true; Jocelyn didn't run, so Valentine let his demons kill her.

"Before I go into all of that, I have to tell you something about Clary. She has these abilities, she can do things we can't."

"Like creating portals?" Jace says. I nod.

"That's only a little bit of it; she can create completely new _runes_. One's not in the Greybook or any other grimoire. She has a whole book of runes she's created, so I used them. I made myself virtually invisible to anybody; Shadowhunters, Warlocks, the Fey. I went off the grid and did a lot of digging.

"For two years, I went around the world, contacting people Valentine has associated with; I did everything you could think of. It wasn't until the past year that I actually found something useful."

"And?" Jace and Isabelle say in unison.

"Valentine's planning something big. I can't really tell you guys anything yet; I don't know enough yet."

"Fair enough," Jace says with a nod. "So where does that leave us?"

"I guess that's up to you two," I say with a shrug. It really it; but without them, I won't get anything done. "I could use your help."

"Are you going to come clean to Clary?" Jace asked sharply- I can tell he cares for her a lot.

"Yeah, but I don't know when or how…" I murmur. Isabelle smiles at me, and I smile back; she's actually very pretty. Gorgeous, really.

"I can help you with that," she murmurs. I nod, entranced.

"Thanks," I manage to get out. Finally things are starting to look up a little bit.

"What now?" Jace interrupts, annoyed with our flirting. But seriously, it's been two years since I've actually interacted with any women. I'm only human…


	12. Chapter 12: Deal With The Devil

_I took the pills._  
><em>I've been consumed.<em>  
><em>I drank the water.<em>  
><em>I had to choose.<em>  
><em>I'm still here with a fire burning, burning inside.<em>  
><em>If you want to burn, light it up, light up, let it rise<br>__Gotta deal with the devil_

Deal With The Devil, Pop Evil

* * *

><p><strong>Simon<strong>

After hearing bits more from different people, I find that Valentine Morgenstern is alive. Clary's father, whom she loved and looked up to, is alive. Meaning he left Clary alone and afraid when she thought that they were both dead. I can hardly comprehend it, let alone imagine the pain and joy Clary must be going through; but I know she'll be fine. She's Clarissa Morgenstern, after all.

Sadly, her mother did not miraculously survive and hide away with Valentine; she's gone for good. Even if she didn't exactly idolize her mother, I know she still loved her and looked up to her.

In more pressing news, I've also learned a little something about Valentine. Of course, rumors spread and some are false, but there is one that I can't quite shake. It's pretty screwed up to be honest, but I guess it fits his whole persona; what I've heard from past event, at least.

And that particular rumor is why I'm riding up an elevator in an extremely posh 5-star hotel. To meet Camille Belcourt herself.

When I step out on one of the topmost floors, I am greeted with Archer, one of Camille's walking blood bags.

"Mr. Lewis," the dazed-looking man says, bowing deeply. "Miss Belcourt is just this way." He gestures down the carpet lined hallway and starts walking.

"Right this way," he opens a door at the end of the hall with a sleek keycard and lets me in. "Miss Belcourt will be in the parlor." Parlor? This isn't the 1860's… Though, I have heard that they were around back then too.

I walk down the hallway alone and come out into a huge living room. It has plush leather couches, a flat screen, and a few doors leading elsewhere; very ritzy. Camille is sitting in an armchair toying with her long blonde hair.

"Simon, how are you, dear?" she says in an uninterested, fake voice. I scoff and plop down on one of the couches, sinking down a bit. Nice.

"Just great, thanks," I mutter, rolling my eyes. "I want to know what you know about Valentine Morgenstern."

"Well, we don't always get what we want, now do we?" she says with her piercing green eyes narrowed at me.

"Really Camille, can we just cut the crap and be adults about all of this?"

She sighs and shifts in her chair, crossing her legs at the knee and leaning forward on them. "I'm so sorry if I'm upset that a little newborn vampire oh so graciously _stole _my clan."

"I did not _steal _your clan. They chose to follow me."

"Same difference," she murmurs childishly. I raise my eyebrows and glare at her unwavering eyes.

"Fine, fine!" She stands up in a huff and walks over to an end table, pouring herself a glass of blood red wine. Or maybe it's really blood? "Valentine Morgenstern is back. He was never really _gone _per se, but in hiding. Now that he's revealed himself to his daughter, he has an extra ally."

"Clary?" I ask, confused. The rumors I've heard haven't been the greatest…

"Of course, keep up boy!" She shouts in annoyance. "I still don't have any details, but he's been recruiting people; Downworlders and Nephilim that were once allegiant to him. The Fey back him wholeheartedly. He even has a few rogue packs from around the globe…

"And a handful of vampires. You and I both know that the New York clan is one of the largest, well organized clans. You have the right to know that much…"

"Well, is there something else?" I ask suspiciously.

"Of course there's more!" She laughs. I sigh. She wants something in return for more information.

"What do you want? I know Valentine's plans are not pure; I have to know what's going on to protect my clan."

"And the Morgenstern girl, correct?" Dammit. If I had blood pumping through my veins, it'd be in my cheeks right now.

"That isn't important, Camille," I hiss, my hands clutching the couch.

"Of course it's not…" she sneers. "But, there is nothing I need as of now. A favor for the future will do."

I think about it for a minute. She can ask almost anything of me, and I can't refuse because I'll be in her debt. That gives her a lot of leverage over me and I don't like that.

"What kind of favor? You could ask for my clan; that's hardly worth a little gossip." She nods, also thinking things over.

"Nothing major; a favor on the smaller scale. An assassination, or information." I laugh at that. An assassination is small scale to her? Either way, the conditions aren't too bad. I look up and nod at her, reaching over to shake her hand.

"You have yourself a deal, Camille Belcourt."

* * *

><p><strong>Clary<strong>

When I return to the shop where my father waits, he is quick to usher us out. Waiting around the side of the shop are a line of horses, all tethered to posts like in the old west. My father mounts a beautiful black Andalusian, and gestures to the bay colored Thoroughbred next to it.

I haven't ridden since I lost my parents and Lucie, and to be honest, I miss it. My heart is pounding as I step up to the horse and gently lay my hand on her mane, rushing my fingers through it. Then I step up onto the stirrup and swing my leg over it. I settle into the seat and take up the reins, looking over to my father for direction.

"Has it been a long time?" he asks gently. I look down at the horse beneath me and nod.

"I haven't ridden since Lucie," I say through a tight throat. She really was my best friend growing up. Though Percheron's are usually gigantic, Lucie was a runt; we were surprised she survived at all. She was still big compared to me, but I liked the duo we made.

My father almost made me put her down because she was so weak, but I begged and pleaded with him to let me condition her and help her build her strength. And it worked; she was an amazing horse and she was kind and strong in the end. She could ride for miles on end if I was with her.

"Let's go," he says and gently walks his horse towards the front of the shop, where the road is. I take a deep breath and gently squeeze the reins towards me while leaning back slightly. Thankfully, the Thoroughbred is trained well and immediately responds. I get her turned around and head straight after my father, all of his people following after us.

When I come up next to him he grins widely at me and shoots forward, quickly bringing his horse to a gallop. I laugh and do the same, missing the familiar rhythms of riding.

A little ways up the road, I can see Jace's golden blond hair and Isabelle right next to him. On the inside of the sidewalk I see a peek of someone with white blonde hair… Almost like fathers. My posture changes at the shock and the horses gait falters in confusion. I straighten up and return us to a slower trot.

When I look up, the white haired person is gone. I know I must be seeing things, because I only know two people with hair like that, and until just a few minutes ago, both were supposed to be dead.

Jace turns and smiles, waving at me, eyeing the whole posse my father has going on.

I slow down and walk next to them for a second, saying hello.

"Are you coming back to the Institute tonight?" Jace asks warily. I shrug.

"I just found out my father is alive, I really don't know what my evening plans are yet, Jace," I laugh out in a giddy voice. I swear, someone would think I'm high, I'm so happy and ecstatic right now. Sure, I have a ton of questions, but they don't really matter right now.

"Well, you'll need your stuff!" Isabelle points out. I nod.

"Yeah and you have to say good bye to us if you're leaving," Jace says with a weird look in his eyes. "Max really likes you, ya know. Maryse too."

"Aw, don't lie, I've grown on you guys, haven't I!" I exclaim and laugh along with them. "Thank you guys so much for coming here with me," I say, making eye contact with Izzy. When I look at Jace, he looks pretty conflicted, but smiles nonetheless, capturing me in his golden eyes. They're so soft right now, and when I met him just a few days ago, I would've never imagined he'd turn out to be this helpful. He's been especially sweet lately, and it's confusing but I think I like it.

Sure, things are pretty fucked up right now. I mean, my dad pretended to be dead, that's a pretty big deal. I have no clue where I'm going or what I'm going to do about all of this. I don't even know if he's here to stay.

But, you know what? None of that even matters. I'm on cloud nine right now. My father is alive, I've made some awesome friends, and I might possibly have a crush on the hottest shadowhunter alive. I'd call it a pretty damn good day, to be honest.


	13. Chapter 13: I'll See You In My Dreams

_Though the days are long_  
><em>Twilight sings this song<em>  
><em>Of the happiness that use to be<em>  
><em>Soon my eyes will close<em>  
><em>Soon I'll find repose<em>  
><em>And in dreams you're always near to me<em>

I'll See You In My Dreams, Joe Brown

* * *

><p><strong>Clary<strong>

Just lightly running the beautiful horse beneath me leaves me breathless and giggling like a little girl, but I couldn't care less. The wind whips my hair around, creating a whirlwind of red, blinding and beautiful. I glance over to see my father looking straight ahead of us towards the crest of the hill we are climbing. I push my steed a little faster, edging past my father and slowing down when I get to the top.

Below us in green grass stands the Fairchild Manor, tall and elegant, just like it had the last time I was here. Of course not much would happen to it; I had hired maintenance crews to keep up the property just before I left. Everything remained the same, down to every little crack in the soft golden stone that made up the two storied home.

Once we get closer to the manor, I dismount and briskly walk up to the edge of the stone path that leads to the arched wooden doors. The trellises are still overflowing with all sorts of flowers, giving the home a fairy-tale look. Red, baby blue, pink, and yellow rainbows of color flow along the ground and line the walkways.

I think that was my favorite part about it when I was younger. It's always been so whimsical with all of the flowers, the weathered stone and iron balconies in the front. I remember that, in the spring, when the flowers would bloom, my mom and I would come out here every morning and pick a fresh bouquet of flowers for the kitchen. Those were the only days that I would wake up along with the sun.

The second story holds a small balcony that can be accessed from the main bedroom, my parents'. The cast iron looks a little worn from years of suffering through rain and beating sun, but the rest remains in shape, even the wicker chairs mom used to bring out for us. When I look back, my father is smiling at me widely, also admiring the beautiful manor that we've both spent years away from. I can't believe I refused to stay here…

But it held too many memories for a fourteen year old to deal with alone, so that's why I left in the first place. I couldn't concentrate on anything without my family, and all the pictures and mementos of the life we lived together caught my breath and choked me to tears. I simply couldn't do it.

Not without my big brother to help me through it all.

**_Jon_**

It took a while to fully explain everything to them, but I did it. Now we sit back at the Inquisitor's house in silence. They're both skeptical of the whole situation, but that weeds them out from the rest; they know what they're doing. I'd be pretty wary if the tables were reversed.

"I get that you guys need time to think, but the sooner we get this over with, the better," I say, breaking their silence. "We don't know what Valentine is going to do: we need to get things planned as soon as we can."

"As in, sometime today," I elaborate under their blank stares. Jace nods, but he looks annoyed with me. "Any questions, comments, or concerns?"

"Why now? Why do you show up all of a sudden, when you say you've known Valentine's been planning something for a while?"

"It's all about timing, man. Clary has to see that bad side of him before anything can happen. If she doesn't, she won't believe a word we say about him."

"She's pretty damn stubborn," Isabelle murmurs in agreement. I watch the raven-haired girl as she pulls her red bottom lip in between her teeth, concentrating on the pillow in her lap, wrapped up in her thoughts. One side of her straight hair is tucked behind her studded ear and over her shoulder, while the other half fans out along her face, shading it like a curtain.

"That's pretty mild," I reply belatedly after Isabelle looks up and meets my gaze. I quickly refocus on the topic. "Clary is too complicated to be called just stubborn. She's more like a feral cat- she'll fight until she's beaten down into the dirt, and even then, she'll keep trying to scratch you. That's so much more accurate."

After a few more silent minutes of deliberation, Jace turns to me and nods.

"We'll help."

**_Clary_**

The inside of our home is just as we left it, pristine, warm and cozy. The main hallway and entrance is painted a light blue, the windows open and curtains fluttering in the breeze. My feet are cold on the tile I walk on, once I take off my tennis shoes and lay them by the door, just like we used to.

There is an archway leading into the kitchen around the right corner, shining with the stainless steel appliances and smooth granite countertops; it's everything my mother loved- that doesn't have to do with art- in one room. Along with the artistic side of her, she absolutely loved to cook, especially dinner foods- pasta, steak and seafood. She could cook anything and everything.

Just being in the brightly lit kitchen, with everything looking like it did years ago, hurts like hell, like an old wound had almost finished healing, then contracted a horrible infection. Being here is making it fester and ache for my mom, for my family to be whole again. I'd give anything just to be able to have the four of us sitting at the table together, eating dinner with Jon and I sneaking sips of our parents' wine, our father laughing while our mother scolds us.

I move from the kitchen, back through the archway to the main hall, and through the second arch that goes straight into the living area. Our large gray sectional sofa and lounge have not moved an inch, still facing the fireplace with the most recent Morgenstern family portrait above the mantel. Opposite to the bay window where I would spend hours sketching and reading, hung a smaller canvas painting. The gorgeous oranges and reds of the autumn leaves padding the ground were disturbed by a small girl sitting next to a low, flat rock, with dolls surrounding it and an old chipped tea cup for each.

She never answered me when I asked her, but I think that it was my mother when she was young. She used to tell me stories about her father and how artistic he was, passing his knowledge down to her, and her to me. I guess our family comes from a long line of artists.

"Father?" I call out, peeking my head back into the kitchen and out the door to find him.

"In the study!" he calls back. I go through the living area and through the French doors into my father's office. I've always loved the room simply for the fact that it's just like a small library. This room is the opposite to the rest of the light, airy house. This room has dark floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves, and buttoned black leather armchairs. In the places where it's not covered, the walls are a deep red, making the room dark and comfortable. It's perfect for reading under a small lamp.

He's sitting behind his desk, shuffling through some papers, which makes me wonder.

"Dad…" I start off, and he glances up at me cursorily before looking down again. "You've been here a little while haven't you?"

He sets his papers down and looks up at me, telling me to sit across from him.

"Yes, I have been here for a few weeks." I nod for him to continue, not letting the curiosity and disappointment of not knowing get the better of me. "I suppose I have a lot to tell you about, don't I?" He says it rhetorically, but I answer anyways.

"Yeah, that would be nice. Mom… is she…?" I ask, holding my breath. If he has somehow made it, why couldn't she? The little bubble of hope in my chest is popped when he sadly shakes his head and reaches across the desk to hold my hand. The tears well and spill, the room filled with the sounds of my soft cries. I knew it deep down, that I wouldn't see her again, but I thought that maybe with my father showing up… I thought there was a chance, however small.

First, when I was thirteen, my brother disappeared. He was sixteen at the time, and he just sort of vanished. The day before, everything was fine and it was family night- dinner, cards, and some wrestling- and in the morning he was gone, just like that. He didn't take any clothes if he willingly left, and there were no signs that he was forced. My mother and I cried for days and stayed at each other's side while my father and the Clave investigated; it was one of the times where we were perfectly in sync with each other. I've always been closer to my dad, but my mom and I did have our moments, however sad they may have been.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months before we had any sort of breakthrough. Even then, the only thing we got was the Clave telling us that there was evidence that lead them to believe that he was dead. They wouldn't tell us much at all, actually, just that there was some sort of scuffle in Brocelind forest, fairly close to our house. They didn't find him, but they found a lot of blood.

Since we couldn't go forth with the traditional route, we were forced to hold a sort of memorial instead: plain, unceremonious, and insignificant. He would've hated it. He enjoyed the nice things in life, and he was still humble, but the small gathering in our backyard did him no justice for the work he'd done in his young years; he was well on his way up the ranks of the Clave.

He was an amazing person, above it all, and he didn't deserve to die.


	14. Chapter 14: With Your Own Eyes

_Learn to see truth with your own eyes. Never believe anything someone else tells you. _

-Unknown

* * *

><p><strong>Simon<strong>

I haven't heard from Clary since she disappeared in Pandemonium. I've gathered that she went hunting with those Shadowhunters, but she hasn't bothered to text me to let me know she's okay.

And I don't know how to feel about that- I mean, that was the first time meeting in person, and she ditched me. I guess I'm a bit put off. Well, pissed, really.

I've been trying to call her, but it goes straight to voicemail, like it's turned off or she doesn't have service. So I've come to the Institute, because I know that the people there are the people that she was most recently with.

I turn down the street, not bothering to hide in the shadows. The moon is just beginning to rise, chasing away the stray rays of sunset as I use my foot to open the rune-engraved gate of the Institute's fence. I wonder if they have a doorbell.

I walk up the front steps, but a rustling noise from my left makes me spin around, taking a defensive pose.

"What the hell are you doing here, bloodsucker?" I hear a man's voice, and see a person step around the corner of the building, a sword held aggressively. The guy has blonde hair and matching eyes, which I note as really weird, and the way he stands says everything I need to know about him.

He has his arm poised in front of him, his blade held dangerously loose. Almost in a _lazy _manner. His eyes and face are relaxed, but his posture is not; it's rigid and ready to fight. He's confident, for sure. Maybe overzealously so, judging by the way he rolls his eyes at me.

"I'm looking for Clary," I say crisply, watching him closely. "About this tall, super slim, bright red hair, Shadowhunter," I say, holding my hand up around my shoulder's height. Yeah, she's pretty damn short.

"Yes," he snaps back, putting his sword down and leaning against the wall. "What do you need with her?" He says with guarded eyes, scanning me for any signs of a threat. Almost protectively.

"She's my best friend and she seems to have gone missing. You're the last people that I know she's been around. Back at Pandemonium," I reply, trying not to let myself get irritated. He may be a Shadowhunter, but _I _know Clary better than anyone. If she's not here, then… I have no clue where she could have gone.

"She's in Idris," the Shadowhunter replies. "If that's all, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Hallowed grounds can't be healthy for the eternally damned." He smirks and gestures for me to leave.

"Asshole," I mutter, walking away down the steps.

"Thanks," he replies sarcastically. I look over my shoulder to see him up on the steps where I previously was, glaring. I roll my eyes and stalk through the gate, slamming it shut with my foot and ignoring the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach.

* * *

><p><strong>Clary<strong>

Just as the rest of the house, my room looks untouched by the years, as if dust simply weren't a factor in the passage of time. The light green walls are still covered with old sketches of mine, as well as a few oil and watercolor canvases that my mother painted for me so long ago. It leaves an acerbic smile on my lips. She really is gone, and I can't stop the pain that burrows deep into my gut, blocking my airflow.

I shut the door and sit down against it, trying to force oxygen into my wanting lungs. It burns my chest and my face is warm; my head is so dizzy I feel as if I might faint, so I close my eyes and continue to breathe in through my nose, and out through my mouth. I sit there, my body shivering and shaking, and my breath slowly levels out. The tightness in my belly remains as solid as the dark hardwood floor beneath my feet.

The tears that have fallen on my face without permission are immediately swiped away in anger, and I stand up and stretch my tense limbs out painfully. Crying over what has been lost is stupid and pointless. It leads ones attention astray and leaves the person bare to the open world, anyone's for the taking. It's a terrifyingly simple weakness; it's in the human nature to feel sorrow and pain.

It's the most rudimentary aspects of life that are the most devastating.

* * *

><p>I end up falling asleep in my old bed in just my underwear and a tank top. The cool silken sheets brush against my bare skin, and I roll over onto my side, gazing forlornly at the window with the light grey curtains. They're pulled partially to the side, and I hardly notice the dark color of the sky, indicating that nightfall has arrived.<p>

I don't worry about it, because for the moment, I'm in my home and I'm safe. I can finally afford the time to lay in bed that extra 5 minutes, to take a long bath if I would like to. Just knowing that I can have these luxuries has me giddy.

So I get up from my bed, turn on the lights, and wander over to the window. I lean in on the small seat built under the window and open the window, leaning my arms on the ledge and gazing over the garden and surrounding valley of green. I will never get tired of this view.

It's the source of so many happy memories. This whole home is. With mother and Jon gone, it's hard to be here. Just in the garden below is a beautiful bed of Edelweiss, these fuzzy, star shaped white flowers that my mom loved and tended to every day. Or the missing vase in front of the entrance of the garden. Jon and I had been running around outside and we accidentally knocked over the pot, spilling dirt and leaving it smashed in pieces. It makes me feel melancholy, but the memories are so beautiful that I also can't help but smile. They are a part of this home, the essence of the family that we used to be.

I turn from the window and swipe the moisture from my eyes, then walk across the room, intending on taking that luxurious bath.

I stop short at the black leather book on the nightstand next to my bed, something that I hadn't noticed when waking up. I walk over and pick up the sketchbook, smiling down at the tough hide of the cover and flipping through the brilliantly white-bleached pages of paper. On the table is also a small box, filled with an array of graphite pencils of varying hardness. I smile and bring both of the gifts to the bathroom with me and set them on the counter, next to the fresh toiletries that my father must have placed there.

There's shampoo, conditioner, body wash, a shaving razor, and lotion all arranged in a small basket. It almost looks like a gift set from that mundane store with all of the different lotions and perfumes. But the thought of my father shopping in a mundane shop filled with girly bath items is unfathomable. And also kind of hilarious.

I turn on the tap of the bath, finding a nice temperature, and plugging the drain. A towel and bathrobe are folded neatly on a small table that I used to use to place my hair products on. Instead, I move the towel and robe to the rack and place my sketchbook and pencils there.

When the bath is filled, I turn off the tap, undress, and slip myself slowly into the steamy water, careful not to get my arms wet. I don't want to get my new sketchbook wet. I guess the bathtub isn't the most practical place to draw, but I couldn't care less, and prop my knees up out of the water and set the leather book on them.

With a 2B, I attack the paper. The lines and curves come easily from memory; the sharp curve of his jaw; the soft crinkles around her eyes when she would smile. They are just as familiar to me as my own body and features.

The sound that the graphite makes on the paper lulls me into a trance of comfort and focus, a feeling that I haven't experienced in such a long time.

By the time I am done, the side of my hand is covered with lead and the first page of the book is complete. My brother and mother smile up at me, as if they are happy, no, proud, that I have finally found my solace once again. I know that I as sure as hell am ecstatic with myself. I didn't think I'd find myself being lost in my own art again, not after everything that's happened. Not after Jon.

We were each other's best friend. We did everything together; we trained together, ate together, and often times we'd camp out in the garden and sleep under the stars together. I told him everything, and he told me everything. He'd come home from Alicante with father, telling be stories about girls he met and how he could woo a date out of any one of them. And I would laugh and tell him to stop being so sexist. Good looks aren't everything a girl looks for- especially Shadowhunter girls.

We look for the qualities of a good Shadowhunter. If we date, it's gotta be someone who's versed in demonology, someone who's strong and fierce, like a hunter should be. Someone who is capable of holding their own in a spar is also nice; it makes training much more challenging and fun. But in the end, it has to be someone who cares for you as much as their line of work. Someone who can treat you the way a true Shadowhunter should be treated; not sugarcoating the bad and acting as if their partner is fragile.

I suppose most of those qualities are preferences of my own, and that would only be possible if I even had the time. I can't speak for every Shadowhunter woman on the planet, though. But for me, that seems perfect.

It's hard to find, though. The closest I've ever come, even though I don't actively look for ideal guys, is Jace. And Jace is... well, he's a cocky bastard sometimes. Besides, we're just friends anyways, and I really like what we have going, but I don't see anything but a platonic friendship at this point. It would just be too difficult.

"Clarissa?" I hear my father call from the other side of the door, and I remember that I'm still in the bathtub with my sketch pad on my knees.

"I'll be out in a little bit," I call back while setting the book and pencils down. The water is still warm, so I lie back and wet my hair. I go through the motions of washing out my hair and shaving, but the whole time, he's still on my mind. Our friendship, and whatnot. He's a gorgeous specimen, I can't deny that; it's a fact.

Before I met Jace, I didn't have time for anything of the dating sort. Now that I've actually made a friend and my father is back, I can see how hard it would really be trying to balance a relationship and… whatever is going on with my father.

Because something is definitely going on with him, and I desperately want to know. I want to know how he's still alive. Did he stage his death, or did he escape by some miracle? If he did, why didn't he come home?

Why did he let me think he was dead?

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><p>I finish bathing and dress in a fresh pair of clothes that I find in my old dresser; I haven't grown much in two years; the only thing that changed, miraculously, was my bra size.<p>

Now clean, clothed, and ready for explanations, I head through the hallway and down the wide staircase. In the front entry are shoes lined at the door; not just my father's. I hear voices as I near the kitchen, so I tread quietly to try and hear something.

"-she be trusted?" Hissed a deep voice that I don't recognize. I hear a cabinet open and the clink of glass, then the cabinet is slammed shut.

"Of course," my father repeats harshly, his tongue ever the razor when insisting on something. "She is my daughter, my blood."

What the hell are they talking about? Trust me with what? I debate whether or not to make my presence known. I could either pretend I didn't hear a thing, or I could just ask him what he was keeping. He might be angry, but I deserve to know since it obviously concerns me.

"What do I need to be trusted with?" I ask boldly and step through the kitchen door to see my father standing there, angled away from me. The other man is…a Faerie. What the living hell is a faerie doing in our home?"

"What the hell's going on?" I ask skeptically, inching toward the knife block almost instinctively. They Fey cannot lie, but they can manipulate and twist words; they can't be trusted.

"Clarissa!" my father says sternly. "What do you think you're doing? I've taught you better than to eavesdrop." He sounds almost angry.

"I've picked up a lot of unfavorable habits while traveling. I apologize for eavesdropping," I say sheepishly, although what I really want to say is why the hell is there a faerie in our kitchen.

"Very well. Meliorn was just readying to leave, anyways," he smiles tightly and nods curtly to the faerie man, Meliorn. He looks young, but then again all faeries do. His skin is pale, but it has a sparkle to it, as if something beneath the surface is shimmering through, and there's a leaf high on his cheekbone; I can't discern if it's a tattoo, or paint. He smiles wickedly at me and I grimace back, moving away from him as he rounds the counter with my father following.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, dearest Clarissa," he says in a smooth, lilting voice. I shiver at the undertone and watch as my father shows him out. I can hear the front door slam shut and the deadbolt slides home. I relax a little bit when my father reenters the kitchen.

"What's going on?" I ask again, this time bringing down the accusing tone in my voice.

"Just some business, sweetheart," he smiles warmly and I give a tiny smile back. "You must be starved." I am indeed. My stomach growls and I nod, examining the kitchen from where I sit at the counter.

"We don't have much at the moment, but I can offer you a sandwich and some soup, if you'd like?"

"I'd love that," I hop down from my stool, walk over to my father, and wrap my arms around his waist. His arm immediately wrap around me tightly and he runs a hand up and down my back, just like he would when I was little; it was the best way to calm me down. "Thank you, dad."

He smiles down at me with dazzling dark eyes and I transiently forget about the faerie that was just in my kitchen; it doesn't really matter in the big scheme of things, so long as I'm here with my father, safe.


	15. Chapter 15: Come Together

_Come together, right now, over me._

-The Beatles

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><p><strong>Simon<strong>

It's been an entire week and I still haven't heard a word from Clary. I've contemplated going back to the Institute and asking them, but I don't think that I'll get a straight answer- friend of Clary's or not. That blonde dude from Pandemonium was a dick, in all sense of the word. I've met some pretty rude Shadowhunter's, but this guy was cocky as well as condescending.

She's in Alicante, the last that I heard, and I have no way of contacting her. Maybe it's time to call in that favor.

It takes an hour to get there, and from across the street I can see the lights blazing through the windows. They pulse with the loud music, and I can feel all of the bodies thrumming with life, with blood, making me shudder with need. It's been too long since I last fed, and as much as I hate it, it's a very necessary inconvenience.

I cross the street, eyeing the demon-powered motorcycles parked on the curb, ones that I recognise belonging to those in my clan. What they're doing at Magnus Bane's party is beyond me. I let myself into the small lobby only lit by a single uncovered bulb and make my way up the stairs, the music gaining in volume, and the smell of sweat and blood clouding my senses.

I hold my breath to clear my mind a little. I only breathe to feel a little more normal, to keep up with the semblance of humanity that I'm trying to keep. I open the door and walk through the bodies, careful not to touch anybody. I see the two raven-haired siblings from Pandemonium, the boy with crystal blue eyes and the girl with eyes so dark they nearly blend in with the iris.

The girl is dancing with a faerie knight, her body swishing against his, making me feel jealous of the fey. She's mesmerising, with her black hair flowing freely down her back and her runes showing through the gauzy white dress she wears. I feel a pull towards her, wanting to be the one that she is giving her attention to. I walk forward, pushing through the throngs of people.

Her tanned neck is adorned with a beautiful silver chain, upon which a ruby red pendant is hung, a filigree of silver encasing it. I can see her throat pulse with her lifeblood.

As if sensing my eyes greedily drinking her in, her head turns in my direction and her eyes meet mine, holding them for only a matter of seconds before she smiles wickedly and turns back away, her attention back to the faerie knight.

Just as fast as that fleeting moment of contact began, it was over, and I had to turn away, my body feeling light and empty.

"Simon Lewis," a voice booms with excessive volume, making me cringe as I face him. "I don't recall sending you an invite."

"I'm here to cash in on that favor you owe me, Magnus," I tell him, trying not to raise my eyebrows at his exotic dress. Today he's in a pair of skin tight leopard-print pants and a puffy white shirt that's half open; it looks like a pirate's shirt. And of course—just like every other time that I've met the flamboyant warlock—he's sprinkled head-to-toe in glitter. The way that it shimmers and throws off the strobe lights is slightly distracting.

I feel like I might have a seizure.

"Right now?" He asks, looking around him in obvious distaste of my timing.

"If I knew there was going to be a party, I would have called ahead," I tell him, rolling my eyes.

"Whatever you say," he shrugs, flecks of glitter fluttering down to the ground. "Right this way, we can talk in my office."

He leads us out of the very crowded main living room that's been turned into a dance floor, and past a door that swings open to reveal a kitchen where I catch a glance of that arrogant blonde-headed Shadowhunter nursing a red cup and looking bummed out. It brings me a sort of satisfaction to see him look so low after our confrontation in front of the Institute. His head snaps up and he glares at me, but it only lasts a second before the door is shut again and I'm back to following Magnus to the back of his loft, away from the party.

"After you," he gestures to the door on our left. I turn the knob and push it open, walking right into what looks like an 1800's study. It's dimly lit with books filling every possible surface, leaving very little floor space. I hear the door click shut, and as if a flip were switched, it is silent again. Magnus meanders past me, his fingers trailing absently over the book spines as he goes, before sitting behind a large, dark-wooded desk with a gas lamp sitting upon it. Yeah, a gas lamp.

I have to admit, it's a nice room; I could see Clary spending days locked away in a place like this, reading away the daylight. The mere thought brings a wistful smile to my lips.

"Is this about your dear little red-headed friend as well?" He asks me. I look up in shock, instantly moving closer to the desk he's sitting at.

"What do you know of Clary Morgenstern?" I ask him sharply, my words cutting and defensive like knives.

"Well, I know that you two are quite close, despite the fact that she up and left for Alicante without a word," he sighs, finally looking up to meet my eyes with his cat-eyes wide and innocent. But he knows, I know that he knows something that he's not telling me.

"Yes, those are all things that I already know," I tell him. He raises his eyebrows.

"Well, what are you here for?"

"I know that you know more that you're letting on," I tell him, feeling the beginnings of rage creeping up on me. It's like he's playing with me.

"I do," is all he says. I feel like screaming.

"So help me—" I cut myself off before I make a fool of myself and choke on the word, and then continue with the annoyance clear in my voice. "Magnus Bane, you owe me, after what I did for you!"

He looks sheepish now. Good. Maybe he'll stop playing games and just help me.

"I need you to get me in contact with her," I tell him. He shakes his head immediately.

"It's not possible, I've already tried," he says. "Fire-messages just bounce right back. She's somewhere very guarded in Idris, now. I've no clue where."

"How do you know this?" I ask him skeptically. Is he really even telling the truth? I don't think he'd cross me like that, not after what I did for him.

"One Mr. Jace Lightwood. He was concerned for her well being when his own messages bounced back and asked me to try," Magnus tells me.

"The blonde bonehead?" Oh great. Another flash of jealousy attacks me relentlessly. What was he doing trying to get a hold of her?

"The one and only," Magnus rolls his eyes. "Look, I'm sorry, but you're not getting a message to her unless it's by old fashioned post, or going there and delivering it yourself. Although I don't think that the US Postal Service reaches that far."

My eyes widen. What if I went there myself? That's perfect! I can get Magnus to portal me there and back, and I can find Clary and make sure that everything's okay. It's a brilliant idea.

"Take me there," I demand, gripping his arm tightly, desperately. Finally, I'm going to find out what happened to her.

"I can't just take you there, Lewis. You're a vampire, you need clearance." Magnus sighs.

"Find a way, Magnus. You owe me that much!" I raise my voice, my fangs snapping out and cutting into my bottom lip.

"Put those damned things away, boy. You act as if I don't know that I owe you!" He huffs, clearly annoyed with the turnout of things. I glare at him. "Fine. Fine. Have it your way," he huffs, and then storms out of the study, clapping his hands together. The lights all flick on and the music stops.

"Party's over!" When people grumble and complain, he replies angrily. "NOW! OUT!"

Everybody starts filing out, looking haggard and breathless from being cut off mid-swing. Making her way to the door with the rest of the crowd is the raven-haired beauty from earlier, looking as flawless as ever. She looks over, as if feeling my stare, and like earlier, her red lips quirk up in the smallest way. She tilts her head my way, saying hello. I smile back.

"You three! Stay!" Magnus calls over, in the woman's direction. What I didn't notice were the two guys flanking her, the blonde asshole and then the boy that looks like her twin, but with blue eyes.

I turn to Magnus and raise my eyebrows at him. He shakes his head in annoyance, dismissing my questioning look. Whatever. I go and sit in the messy living area, sinking into the couch and waiting for everybody to leave. The girl follows me in and sits across from me, her eyes following me closely.

After a few moments of us staring off, I open my mouth to introduce myself.

"I'm Simon," I say, leaning forward and extending my hand to her. She looks down at my hand for a second before grasping it in hers firmly. Unlike her outward appearance, I can feel the callouses on her hand, proof of her Shadowhunter blood.

"Isabelle," she says, cocking her head to the side in amusement. I smile back at her.

"Finally, everybody's gone!" Magnus cheers, sounding much happier than he did earlier. The blonde Shadowhunter and Isabelle's brother—I'm assuming he's her brother—follow him and settle into the couches and chairs, as if they're perfectly comfortable here.

Finally, as if not noticing me before- even though he clearly glared at me from the kitchen earlier- the blonde looks over and his eyes instantly narrow. "What's he doing here?"

"I don't see how it's any of your business, really," I reply, my voice short, and my tone snappy.

He rolls his eyes. "I wasn't talking to you, Drac."

"Wow, talk about racist," I mutter to myself. Isabelle chokes back a laugh and covers it up as a cough, which, in all reality, is pretty cute. "What's going on, Magnus?"

"You want help, and I can't provide it, but these three can."

"You have got to be kidding me!" I yell. "This is not what I asked for, Bane!"

"You weren't exactly specific, either. If you want help finding Clary, they're your best bet," he gestures towards the three Shadowhunters. I roll my eyes at the whole situation.

"This is such bullshit," I mutter. Magnus' head moves on a swivel and he narrows in on me.

"Do you want my help or not?" He snaps. I could try my luck with another warlock and spend a fortune to get portaled into Idris, or I could shut up and just deal with this situation. Plus, Magnus is reliable. I sit back and keep quiet. "That's what I thought."

"Now, Jace, why don't you explain to Simon, here, what you know…"


	16. Chapter 16: Jealousy

_Thank you guest Ithruriel who pointed out I had 2 chapters of the same content, I messed up posting at some point, but it's fixed now. Enjoy! (This us not a new update for those getting notifications, it's just me rearranging chapters to fix my mistake, sorry!)_

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><p><em>It is not love that is blind, but jealousy.<em> -Lawrence Durrell

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><p><strong>Jace<strong>

It's been about a week since Clary went with her father, a week since her "dead" brother Jonathan contacted us. Still, we've heard nothing from her. I've called Luke, an old friend of hers and the leader of the New York pack, but he's heard nothing, either. In fact, he assumed that she just up and left without a word, which is not unlike her. I guess she's gone dark before, no cell phone, no letters, nothing. It worries me, especially after hearing what Jonathan had to say about him.

He's not all that he seems to be, and I hope that Clary can see that much, before she gets sucked in too deep. I don't want her to get mixed up with that type of business, family or not.

Then again, she's a big girl. She knows right from wrong and she can decide what's what if she needs to. I just hope that the fact that he's her father and she hasn't seen him in so long doesn't cloud her judgment.

The scariest part of it all, though, is knowing that he could manipulate her. She was so awestruck when he came into that old bookshop, she couldn't even utter a single word that made any sense. The fact that he's probably priming her for his use is disgusting, and equally terrifying.

I met the girl less than two weeks ago, and I'm feeling this protective of her, and I don't know why. I didn't like it when that vampire friend of hers came poking around, looking for answers, and I didn't like it when Jonathan came around either. Although I have warmed up to the latter; he's a good guy, and it's easy for anybody to see that he only wants to help his sister and take down their father. I can get on board with that. And yet, I still don't understand why I feel the way I feel about Clary.

Sure, she's strong, and fierce, and gorgeous. But she's also witty, and cautious, and caring. I think that her compassion—despite how hard she tries to hide it—is what draw me to her, that despite everything that she's been though, she still has a strong moral compass. She could have gone rogue with everything that's been thrown her way—losing her brother and then both her parents? That's hard to deal with, I would know. I lost both of my parents when I was just a kid, and I still struggle with that loss daily. I miss them like no other, and I want them back. In a way, I'm jealous of Clary. Her father is alive and well, even if he is messed up in the head.

And from what I've heard, he's one messed up son-of-a-bitch.

That's why we're all meeting at Magnus' apartment, where it's safe for us to talk freely. Hell, Jon's actually been staying there, it's that secure. The vampire, Simon, is supposed to meet us as well, so we can finalise a plan and finally set it into action. It's only been a week, but it feels like forever. I just want Clary safe, and though I know Valentine won't physically hurt her, he can still influence her thoughts and behaviour.

That's the last thing we need.

* * *

><p><strong>Simon<strong>

Following my crashing of Magnus' party, I learned some new, very important, information. Like how Clary's father, Valentine, is practically a psychopath. He wants to cleanse the bloodlines and kill all Downworlders, or something of the sort. Nobody can tell what exactly it is that he's aiming for. That makes him dangerous.

But, since the Shadowhunter's of the New York Institute also want to find Clary, I have them on my side, which makes me a much more formidable opponent. Jace, the blonde bonehead, has been spending time with Clary since that night at Pandemonium. I'm not happy about it, but I'm relieved that he knew where exactly she went, when I had absolutely no clue.

It took a lot of convincing, arguing, and finally, Magnus yelling at Jace to grow up, to get him to open up to me about it all. The girl with the beautiful black hair, Isabelle, is his adoptive sister, and Alec is her brother, and Jace's parabatai. They've also agreed to help, and we've formed a "team good" of sorts. Magnus has been a lovely referee, but since he won't be able to actively help locate and ensure Clary's safety, he's backed down from babysitting us.

When Magnus decided to take a step back from our plans, Jonathan Morgenstern stepped in. Clary's brother, who I thought to be dead, is very much alive and well, and he's the leader of this whole organization, now. If I'm being honest, I'm glad that it's him who is leading us. At least his intentions are pure, unlike Jace, who just wants to get at Clary. I really can't stand the guy, and how he presents himself as some cocky asshole who has taken it upon himself to save Clary. As if sheneeds saving.

There's a sharp rapping at the door, like the steady, staccato beat of a snare. Magnus sighs heavily and trudges over to the door, not even bothering to check his appearance before opening it up. A man of about twenty stands beyond in a dark pair of jeans and a black long sleeve t-shirt. What startles me is not the halo of strikingly white hair that falls in a straight curtain to his shoulders, but the fine, delicate features of his face. His cheekbones look to be perfectly copied and pasted from Clary's own face, down to the little tell-tale indentations of dimples.

And his eyes are the exact shade of crystal moss as Clary's. It's disturbing on the one hand, but on the other, it makes me feel more secure that out of anybody here, he'll help us bring her home, and away from Valentine.

"Simon Lewis," he says, looking me in the eye, "May I have a word?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," I reply, creasing my forehead and placing my hands in my pockets. He stands there staring at me, waiting. Oh. "Here, or in private?" I stammer.

"Private would be lovely," Jonathan says with a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"You can use my study," Magnus sighs, plopping onto the couch and laying his head on Alec's shoulder and grumbling about how he should revise his open door policy.

"Thank you," Jonathan smiles politely. I lead us out of the chatter-filled living room and into the hallway, where I easily find the door to Magnus' study once again. Of course, it's still as messy as it was before, with books and paper strewn everywhere.

"So, what's the occasion?" I ask nervously. He has that kind of demeanour about him, an aura that sort of says I will fuck your shit up.

"You're good friends with my sister, aren't you?" He asks, his green eyes widening and softening to a much friendlier level.

"Yeah, we are. We would talk a few times a week, if she had cell reception. She's my best friend," I shrug, biting my lip and wishing that I knew where she was, if she's safe.

"You love her," he says with certainty. I lock up and frown at him.

"What do you mean?" I ask hesitantly. "Of course I love her, she's my best friend."

Jonathan sits and watches me closely, his green eyes inquisitively bright and knowing. A moment hangs in the air between us, stale and waiting to be broken, when he finally speaks.

"Yet you bristle at Jace, who has seemed to take on some sense of responsibility for Clary. Should you not be happy that he cares?" Jonathan muses, his eyes laughing at me, and if I were physically able to, I'd be blushing right now.

"Jace is a conceited asshole who only wants to get into your sister's pants. I know guys like him, I see them all the time, going around and flaunting their looks, taking what they want and leaving a string of broken hearts in their wake. So, if I were you, I'd reconsider your own opinions on the douche," I huff, not noticing when my own fangs snap out in anger and dig into my lip. I have to take a deep breath- one that I do not need- and retract them. Jonathan and I stare at each other for a moment before his face falls into a careless smirk, not unlike Jace's. It's infuriating.

"I see," he chuckles lightly. "I'm just trying to get a feel for all of her friends, you know?"

"What's this really about?" I press, not wanting to sit here through this stupid bullshit. He sits up and nods, as if making a mental checklist of things.

"Good, you're perceptive. That's what I like to see. I assume you've been filled in by the other Shadowhunters?" Jonathan says, leaning forward and clasping his hands together, his elbows on his knees. I nod. "That's wonderful. This should be easy, then."

"Alright, what's the plan?" His grin is wickedly sharp and knowing, and he has that look in his green eyes that I could totally see on Clary when she gets a crazy idea and relays it to me with such passion and fervor. It's intimidating, but if Jonathan is anything like his sister, then I think that we'll be okay.

"Gather your clan, Simon Lewis. We're storming the bastille."

* * *

><p><strong>Clary<strong>

The week following my reunion with my father was a blur. It's literally a hazy blur, and I realised it one morning when I woke up, my stomach growling fiercely from not eating dinner last night. But I've been so stressed, and everything has been hectic. I haven't seen my father in years, and I assign the delirium settling into my memories down to that single factor.

I shower in the large walk-in, now fully equipped with all of my favourite products—the ones that I have not had the luxury to use often whilst travelling. The steam fills my lungs and relaxes me as I lather the jade-scented shampoo into my wet curls, and I try to open my mind further, to recall the past few days.

I visited Alicante with Jace and Isabelle, where we went to Hodge Starkweather. I remember he was a nice old man, but there was a desperate feeling about him, as if he were held down by fear of something, or someone. He just seemed off.

And before all of that, I had stayed at Luke's—all of my most recently bought clothes are there, as well as my well-worn art book. My father procured every art supply I could ever want or need, from canvas to oil paints, to chalk and even crayons, and everything else in between. Of course, I can't complain about his continuous shower of gifts such as new clothes and weapons, but they're still just not the same as the ones that I am used to. I don't even have my katana, and that in itself makes my heart ache.

But it goes so much farther than material possessions, however close I may hold them. I've just up and left everything, without a word. There are people expecting me to keep in check, like Luke and Simon.

Simon must be frantic. He's always been so protective, but I've gone dark before and it's never really been a problem—but those times, I always let him know where I was going to be and how long I'd be out of touch. I really do hope that he's not too worried about me.

I left the Lightwood's without any explanation whatsoever, after they opened their Institute to me, to go gallivanting back to my childhood home with my supposedly-dead father. I know that Alec couldn't care less about my well-being, but Isabelle and Jace are different. Isabelle is…cool. I'd like to think that we could be great friends, and I've never had a girl friend before, so it could potentially be very nice. But I've left it all.

And then there's Jace. We made a small little pact to get to know each other and become friends, but I've obviously broken that promise, just like I broke the promise to myself not to get involved with these people. It's hard to keep to yourself when a family so readily welcomes you into their midst—minus Robert and Alec Lightwood. And despite my own promises to keep away from boys and relationships, I find myself missing Jace.

Why I've been so delusional these past few days is beyond me, but I think that it might just be time for a short visit back to New York City.

When I'm clean and relaxed, with a plan ready to be executed, I go downstairs, listening for any signs of my father at each floor. The entire place is empty, from what I can tell at a simple sweep. The only thing amiss is that his study door is open. I see it while I'm making my way to the kitchen in search of food, and it strikes me as odd. He never leaves his personal study open, he always keeps it under lock and key when he's not home.

So, naturally, I sneak over to the door and stand there for a moment, my hand hovering in the air, contemplating actually invading his privacy. Then again, he may very well be in there if it's open. I lightly rap on the door, letting it swing open a little bit.

Since there's no answer, I take the liberty to step inside and take a peek, just a quick one.

"Hello? Are you in here, dad?" I call, looking around before stepping in all the way and shutting the door behind me. It's messier than I would have thought he'd keep it, but he could also just be very busy—he is an avid businessman, after all. The maroon walls are a host to shadows being flicked about by the wavering witchlight sconces on the wall, my own being like a life-sized shadow puppet.

The witchlight shouldn't even be flickering, really. Witchlight sputters like this when there's a lack of angelic presence, but that's not right, because we're Shadowhunters. We have the Angel's blood running through our own veins.

A muffled groan has me reaching for the nearest weapon—an electrum-coated letter opener on the desk—and inching towards the door in nervous anticipation. I stand as still as a stone, listening for the sound again, but when it comes, I whip around and find that it's not coming from outside of the study. It's coming from below, and it's much louder and clearer now, as if some sort of warding is wearing off.

The clopping of hooves keeps me from investigating further, and I jet out of the study, shutting the door quietly behind me. I see my father walking up the steps, and I have no time to dash up the stairs to my room without him seeing me, so I leap for the kitchen since it's the closest.

"Clarissa?" He calls. I reach for an apple out of the basket on the counter and take a huge bite, leaning casually against the counter.

"Kitchen!" I yell around the food in my mouth.

My father's head pops into the kitchen, and he rolls his eyes with a smile when he sees me taking another enormous bite. "Don't speak with food in your mouth, Clarissa. Honestly, you're going to end up choking."

I give him a thumbs up and he tells me that he's going to be in his study and not to disturb him, because he's working. I give him a thumbs up and a smile. When I hear his footsteps retreating, I spit out the half chewed piece of fruit and toss the rest of the apple, my stomach suddenly not feeling all too great.

When I hear that study door fall shut with a deafening click, I relax. It's then that I realise that I'm still gripping the electrum letter-opener, and there's a small trail of blood dripping down my hand and onto the tile floor.

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><p><em>What, oh what could it be? <em>

_Thank you MortalWonderland for betaing, you really rock! _

_Thank you to the guest who's been reviewing just about each chapter! You should really make an account so I can reply to your awesome reviews. And sorry about the April Fool's prank xD_

_Let me know what you think down below! xo_


	17. Chapter 17: Madness

_**It's been a while...since I first saw you...and it's been a while... since i could stand on my own two feet again... **_

_**lmao I'm back with a vengance I've been so slow with this story but I KNOW WHAT IM DOING NOW. FINALLY. SO Y'ALL BETTER COMMENT AND LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK, BECAUSE IM THINKING A SEQUAL**_

_**THATS RIGHT**_

_**A DIDDLY DARN SEQUAL**_

_**WHAT DO YOU THINK BOUT THEM APPLES**_

_**okay leave a comment lemme know what you think, I'm back to back posting a couple of chapters so you better be happy and comment or i'll be sad and thing you don't care okay bye love you guys bye**_

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><p><em>I can't get these memories out of my mind<br>And some kind of madness has started to evolve  
>I tried so hard to let you go<br>But some kind of madness is swallowing me whole, yeah_

_I have finally seen the light  
>And I have finally realized<br>What you mean_

Madness, Muse

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><p><strong>Clary<strong>

I hole up in my room for the rest of the afternoon, until it's dark outside. I skip dinner and tell my father that I'm just not hungry, and he offers to make me coffee instead. I let him, knowing that I'll need the caffeine to make the trek across the countryside to Alicante. When midnight strikes, and I'm positive that my father is asleep—I can hear his monstrous snoring from down the hall—I slip into a sweatshirt and my sneakers, and strap my katana over my back. My stele is tucked safely into the pocket of my jeans.

The ride to Alicante, where I can contact my friends, is long—even on horseback. It only actually takes roughly two hours at a running gallop, but it feels like so much longer with the weight in my mind. I have so many questions, but there's no way I could possibly ask my father. He's the one I need to get away from right now.

Out here, in the open, I can breathe freely. I can think. And I'm thinking that it's weird how the past week has been a blur, just like the greenery rushing by me on both sides. It would be a beautiful sight if I weren't so stressed out right now. I didn't really take into account the weather, so the thin material of my sweatshirt does little against the wind whipping around me as I speed forward, and my fingers are clutching the reigns numbly. By the time I reach Alicante, I'll probably be an icicle.

When the giant mass of the Brocelind Forest and the edges of the crystal Lake Lynn begin to peek over the horizon, my heart begins to race in excitement. Alicante is just through the woods. I'll be there in an hour, tops. As my horse runs onward, my heart rate increases and I can feel it beating at every pulse point on my body, making me hyper-aware of the noise all around. I slow down and crane my neck around, searching for the source of the rustling noise. Then I realise that it's nothing in the brush, but it's inside of my head.

It's like static in my ears, deafeningly loud and increasing with each passing moment. My head pounds with the white noise, and I slide down off of the horse's back and immediately collapse to the ground, rubbing furiously at my temples.

The cool night air soon starts to become constricting, and I rip off the sword slung over my back, followed by my sweatshirt. I feel nauseous and short-of-breath, like every time I breathe in, my lungs constrict a little bit more. I try breathing in slowly and holding it before slowly exhaling, but it doesn't do a damn thing to make me feel any better. I don't know what's wrong with me, or why I can't breathe or think clearly all of a sudden.

I yank the stele out of my pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and a pencil with it. There's always some sort of pencil on my person at all times. With the stele, I harshly carve a calming rune into my arm, followed by an iratze. I don't feel the usual sting, and it fades into my skin instantly, but I feel none of the effects—it doesn't work. I bring my stele back down and press harder into my skin, willing the iratze to work, to be stronger that a normal one. All I get is the smell of charred flesh, and a trickle of blood down my arm.

With a pounding head, I flatten out the crumpled paper and poise the pencil to write. With a trembling hand, I scribble Brocelind Plain on it. With the last bit of strength that I have left, I draw a rune, and the message in my hand catches fire. The embers are just barely dying into the night when I succumb to the darkness.

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><p><strong>Jace<strong>

We've been waiting for nightfall in Idris to make our move, since Simon's vampires obviously can't fight during the daylight. The cover of night should help us as well, shielding us from prying eyes. I'm impatient myself, but the real stress comes in the form of a small, crumpled up piece of paper just appearing and floating down into my lap, the edges singed and bringing the smell of burnt paper with it.

I snatch it up and turn it over to find, in handwriting that looks as bad as Max's, two words scribbled down. Brocelind Plain. It's a place in Idris, just before the Lake and the forest of the same name. The problem is that I have no clue who it is from, though I desperately hope it's from Clary.

"Jonathan!" I call, not hesitating. He would know for sure. "Jon get in here!"

The white-haired leader of this operation appears from the kitchen, a pen clutched in his hand as if he were in the middle of writing down a game plan. I hope for our sake that he was because we don't have an exact strategy yet.

"Look at this," I shove the paper towards him, and watch him flip the paper over, looking for any more clues. "Fire message. I don't know who from, but…"

"It's Clary," Jonathan sets his jaw, looking worried and furious at the same time. "She needs help, we have to go there."

"You know where Clary is?" Simon comes running from one of the back rooms, having heard at least some of our conversation. "Where is she? Let's go get her!"

"Get Magnus," I tell him. "We'll need a portal."

"My name might as well be Magnus Bane: High Warlock of Freebies," the sparkly haired warlock says, rolling his cat eyes the second he comes in.

"If it's money you want, Bane, you know I can get it," Jonathan says in a low, demanding voice. "But I need that portal now. You have my word, I'll get you your damn money."

"You guys aren't going anywhere without me," my sister saunters in, wrapping her electrum whip around her wrist, looking ready to kill in full battle gear, like the rest of us. It's a wonder that she can get dressed so quickly when it comes to hunting, but she takes forever when we go to Pandemonium.

Jonathan looks at each of us, clearly annoyed. Isabelle only winks back at him, making his steely green gaze soften the slightest. Simon looks irritated, and I just want to leave already. A moment later, Alec comes into the room, also dressed from head to toe in gear, with his bow and arrow slung over his shoulders.

"You're coming too?" I ask him in disbelief. He's not fond of Clary, so why he would risk himself for her is beyond me.

"Of course I am," Alec says defiantly, walking up and grasping my hand in his and clapping me on the back, holding us there for a second. "We're parabatai. Wherever you go, I go."

"Are we all ready?" Jonathan barks, looking seriously tense and fiercely determined. Just like me.

"Let's go get our girl back," I reply.

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><p><strong>Jonathan<strong>

The second that I read that fire message from my sister, I knew that something was up. She's a perfectly capable girl, and she went with Valentine willingly. She would never do anything against her will, she's too strong for that. But for her to send up an SOS indicates that she needs help urgently.

She knows about Valentine.

I knew it wouldn't take long for her to see through his fake demeanour that he tries to pass off as if he's the same man he was when we were children. All of the wrong people have been whispering in his ear, guiding him farther and farther from the path of the Angel. His weak mind will wreak great havoc.

I've waited long enough for this moment, the moment that I get my sister back and finally put an end to the mess our father has created. I won't let him further taint the Angel's name for his self-righteous cause.

"Are we all ready?" I call to the gathered Shadowhunters and Downworlders surrounding me.

"Let's go get our girl back," Jace says from my side, a determined gleam in his golden eyes. He's just as invested in this mission as I am, and I'm beginning to understand why.

"Give me the note," Magnus Bane says, holding his manicured hand out for the scrap. "So I can Portal us directly to Clarissa."

I pull the note out of my pocket and hand it over, and then watch Magnus hold it in between his flattened palms, in a praying position. He chants over the paper, causing blue sparks to fly from his palms. When he finishes the chant, he holds his hands to the wall, and motions them into a large rectangle, roughly the size of a door. The blue sparks weave together and connect, forming a shimmering blue Portal.

"After you," Magnus says, stepping aside and waving his arms in front of the Portal like a hand model. Simon leans out of the window and whistles into the night air, signalling for his clan to gather. It's time to go.

With a deep breath, I step through the Portal. The familiar rush of cold water envelops me, and I feel myself coming apart, and then it's over and I land on one knee. It takes me a second to reorient myself, but when I do, I'm horrified by what I find.

"By the Angel," I whisper as Valentine steps forward from a mass of Faerie Knights with a wicked, nauseating grin on his face. Clutched in his fist is a bloodied athame, and off to the side lays Clary, surrounded by a pool of crimson blood, widening by the second. "You bastard."

I hear a whoosh and feel Jace's presence at my side.

"Clary," he whispers, his voice breaking on the last syllable.

I pull my sword, Phaesphoros, from it's sheathe on my back and step forward. It's now or never. I move my head to the side and whisper to Jace, directing him.

"She's still alive. Get her out of here," I hiss before facing my father, who has traded his bloodied dagger for a broadsword. The Fey stand around him at attention, as do Simon's clan, who have all gathered around Jace and I, waiting.

"Kill every last one of these bastards!" I call to my small assembled army. War cries come forth, and vampires, Shadowhunters, Werewolves, and Warlocks alike surge forward to meet the Fey.

The Accords don't apply any longer, and I'm going to make sure that Valentine Morgenstern gets exactly what has been coming for him. I will personally bring my sword to his throat and end all of the suffering that he has caused our world.

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><p><strong>Clary<strong>

I awake to the searing burn of an iratze, a welcome sting to the pain throughout my body that is washing away.

"Clary," I hear him whisper, hands on my face. "Clary, please, wake up. Please."

I slowly peel open my eyes to see Jace kneeling above me, his blonde curls framing his face, reaching towards me, and his golden eyes looking worriedly down on me.

"You came," I breathe, a small smile coming to my lips. "I knew your stubborn ass would come."

"It's nice to see you too," Jace smiles back, his hand brushing my messy hair out of my face and cupping my cheek. It's breath-taking and heartbreaking all at the same time, the way he's looking at me, as if he was genuinely worried about me. "Are you okay to stand? We need to get you out of here."

I sit up with Jace's help and my ears finally tune in to sounds that I know so well. Metal on metal, flesh on flesh, the sounds of anguished cries and death, intermingling into the one thing a Shadowhunter will recognize anywhere. A fight.

I'm not where I was before, when I passed out after sending the fire message. I'm at the edge of a small wood, and looking out, I can see the flash of swords in the moonlight, the source of the noise. I stand up and stagger along with the help of the trees, to the mouth of the small patch that we're hidden in, taking a closer look.

There are Shadowhunters—the Lightwood's, Isabelle with her whip, slicing at the Fey, and Alec loosing arrow after arrow in the same direction—as well as Vampires, Werewolves, and Warlocks, their magic sparking against the dull plains.

"Jace…" I mutter, looking up at him. "I'm not going anywhere."

He gives me an exasperated look before thrusting my katana at me.

"I sort of figured. You'd think that after being drugged by your father and nearly drained of blood by him, you'd be a little more willing to give yourself time to recover," he shakes his head at me.

"What?" I ask sharply, narrowing my eyes at him. "My father did this to me? He drugged me?"

"I don't know why he did what he did, Clary, but he's not the same person who raised you," Jace says. When I look back at the battle, searching for my father, Jace's hand goes under my chin and jerks my attention back to me. "Listen, Clary. I know that he's your father, but you can't trust him. He tried to…"

Jace lifts my hands into his, palm up. It's then that I see the nasty, jagged pink lines over each wrist, a healing scar. I clench my jaw as I look down at my wrists, disgusted that my own father would do this to me, to his only living child.

The tears that had started to pool in my eyes are replaced by rage, my entire body heating up and beginning to shake. My mind races with all sorts of thoughts, of ways to get to the man that did this to me, and smite him for his horrible crimes. I can do it, I know that I can. He's the one that taught me how to fight, I know every single move of his. I can end him before it even begins.

"Give me my stele," I whisper to Jace, my voice deadly calm.

"I don't know where your stele is, Clary. It wasn't with you," Jace says, and instead pulls out his own and hands it to me.

"My stele is gone?" I look up at him, the anger subsiding for a short second. It was my mother's. I've never used anything but that specific stele. I snatch his away and quickly carve all the runes that I need for battle, seething on the inside, my thoughts burning holes into my mind, with one thing repeating itself over and over again. I need to kill my father. I'd bet that he set up that "attack" the day that my parents both "died." I'd bet that he killed my brother and mom. His own son, the successor to the Morgenstern line.

"Let's go," I turn away from Jace and stalk towards the mass of writhing, fighting figures.

"Clary, there's something else," Jace grabs my arm, mindful of my sore wrists from where my father tried to kill me. It's almost like he tried to ritualistically sacrifice me, with the jagged lines suggesting that he used an athame of some sort.

"What? That my father is a lunatic who I willingly went with, because I was too fucking blind to see through him? I was stupid and naïve, and I should have known. People don't just fake their deaths for any good reasons. I should've known," I shout, angry with myself for even falling for it. I was so shocked that my father was alive, that I still had family that I let all of my instincts fall to the wind.

"Jonathan, your brother," Jace says, searching my eyes, "he's alive, Clary. He put together this rescue mission. He's been keeping an eye on you since he… left."

My heart drops into my stomach as yet another bombshell crushes even more of my resolve. My brother is alive. He's here. Why would he do that, though? Why would he fake his death, and worry me like he did? I have so many questions, and absolutely no answers.

"Clary!" Jace takes me by the shoulders, pulling me into his chest. My face is damp and my chest is tight. I can't breathe, or think, let alone even begin to comprehend what Jace is telling me.

"Jon's alive?" I ask, my voice cracking as I hiccup and my chest spasms with a sob.

"Yes, he's here. He's okay. It's okay, Clary, it's going to be okay," Jace says against my hair, his arms still wrapped tightly around my shaking body.

"It's not going to be okay until Valentine's dead," I whisper, pulling away from Jace and wiping my face dry with the edge of my shirt. It does no good for me to be crying, as much as I want to just let it all out, so I take a deep breath, count to ten, and reinforce my resolve to keep moving forward.

I turn towards the battle and begin walking, with every step inching a little bit faster, until I break into a jog, and then I'm sprinting, charging towards the foray. I see Simon and a Knight of the Seelie circling each other, Simon's teeth bared and a dagger clutched in his hand.

I see werewolves tearing apart the faeries, and with some sort of sick satisfaction, I smile. One of the werewolves turns to me and almost nods, as if in acknowledgement, and I realize that the russet-furred wolf is Luke. I smile and continue on, unsheathing my sword, and throwing myself into the battle with fervour. Jace is right behind me, swinging seraph blades this way and that, quickly dispatching two slow-footed faeries.

With my runed katana, I dive into the masses, swinging ferociously at anything winged or green. Isabelle flicks around near me, making her way closer with each dead Fey. Jace and her nod, and then he's gone to fight with his parabatai, where he should be.

"I'm glad you're okay, Clary," Isabelle calls over her shoulder, her whip never ceasing its tempestuous dance. A faerie charges me, her moss-green hair whipping around and claws like razor-sharp leaves. A Kelpie of some sort. I hold my sword steady in front of me—occasionally there's the really daft faerie who'll run right into it, but not this one. This Kelpie dodges to the side, making me turn and leave my back exposed. She swipes out at me, and then feigns left before somersaulting to the right and kicking my feet out from under me before I can even swing a full arc.

I swipe at her feet, but she deftly hops the blade, and then grabs it with her bare hand, thick blue blood streaming out of it. I yank my blade back and the Kelpie falls forward with a surprised yelp, and I'm on top of it in a second, my knees pinning the thing down. I swing, my fist connecting with papery white flesh, and I keep going, pounding out my frustrations. One for my father, who's dragged me through hell and back by the hair. One for my brother who is alive. Another two for my mother who is not. A last slam, again for my monster of a father. More of the blueish coloured blood is coughed up post mortem, covering my hands as I take the last hit. The Faerie was dead by the second hit.

I'm pulled up from underneath the arms, a solid body holding me up. I spin around and swing, my fist connecting soundly with a rock solid jaw, with sort of hurts my hand. I look up into a distant but familiar pair of green eyes, identical to mine.

"Jonathan," I say, all of the air leaving my body in shock. He smiles down at me warmly, his silvery-white hair falling into his eyes, like he's a kid again.

"Hey, sis," he grins, holding his arms out. I practically fall into them, squeezing with all of my might, inhaling deeply. He smels the same, of mint and laundry soap. We're only afforded this for a second before Isabelle's whip cracking down a faerie brings us back to earth. I step away, then punch him in the gut, winding him completely.

"That's for leaving me," I tell him, my voice cracking. The sadness and remorse on his face is enough to keep me from also kicking him in the shins like a child throwing a tantrum.

"I didn't want to, Clary," he says. I step around him and slice through a faerie that was coming up behind him.

"Then why?" I cry, hacking away at the next few that come in range.

"Not here Clarissa," Jonathan sighs, using my full name as some sort of negative reinforcement. "Right now, we need to find Valentine."

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to accept that answer and move forward, onto the real problem: our father. He's been in cahoots with the Fey, he's broken just about every Clave rule possible, and he's dragged us along with him. I won't stand for that, not after pledging myself to uphold the word of the Clave as a Shadowhunter. It's the right thing to do.

"Let's get the bastard."


	18. Chapter 18: This War Is Ours

_**IDEK WHERE ALL OF THIS CAME FROM. I HAD A HUGE FIGHT WITH MY SISTER AND THEN I LISTENED TO SOME ESCAPE THE FATE AND I WAS LIKE FUCK YEAH LETS DO SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE WITH OUR LIFE, EMILY, AND I WROTE THIS MOTHER EFFER LIKE A BAU5. **_

_**I'm feeling so good right now. And no, I'm not high, I'm just hyper af and so so so happy with this chapter that I didn't wanna wait to send it to my beta, sorry Mortal Wonderland, you know I love you but I couldn't wait!. I hope you guys are too. **_

_**I expect responses from you guys, TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK, FEEL, IF YOU LOVE IT OR WHAT WENT THROUGH YOUR MIND WHILE READING. LOVE YOU GUYS TO PIECES.**_

_**If you don't like metal core and screaming, do not listen to this song, although I recommend you do or just look up the rest of the lyrics bc it's so perfect for this chapter. xD even if you just listen to the chorus which is clean vocals (no screaming)**_

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><p><em>We have to find a better way<em>

_Out of this tragedy_

_As the battle rages on_

_Blood stains the ground we're on_

_My ears hear only screams_

_Brave soldiers are dying_

_One Spartan stands alone and shouts_

_This war is ours._

_Yes, I will lead you._

_Through the smoke and flames_

_On the frontlines of war_

_And I will stand my ground until the end_

_'Til we conquer them all_

Escape the Fate

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><p><strong>Clary<strong>

It's a whirlwind of clashing hardware, blood, and broken cries of the fallen. It's the biggest battle of our lifetimes, and yet it feel completely desolate, like we're the only ones here; my brother and I. I can't fight the feelings of hatred and betrayal and disgust as we stalk towards our father, where he is easily commanding his army from the tree line. As if he couldn't be bothered to partake in the fight that he's choreographed.

"Coward!" I scream, my sword held up high and ready to slay. My father—_Valentine—_looks up with shock in his beady black eyes, to see Jonathan and I stalking towards him. I don't doubt that we're the perfect image of Abbadon and Azrael, the sibling archangels of destruction and death. I think it's perfectly fitting.

"I knew I should have used a poisoned blade on you," he sneers, lazily unsheathing his massive broadsword, as if we'll be no task at all. He's dead wrong, and his head at my feet will prove it. When I fight, I fight for the _kill. _

"You need to shut your filthy mouth," Jonathan growls, stepping ahead of my and unconsciously holding a hand back to keep me in place. I take his hand instead and step up next to him, his equal in this battle, whether he likes it or not. I know he does _not_ like it.

"Jonathan, is that any way of speaking to your father after so long? What have you been up to, my boy? Vacationing in Rio? _Finding_ yourself in the Himalayas?" He sneers at Jonathan, making my blood boil. While my father was breaking the Law, and everything that we Shadowhunters stand for, Jonathan was watching over _me. _He was keeping me safe, even when I didn't know that I'd need it.

"You're going to rot in Hell for all that you've done," Jonathan shoots back with an equally ugly sneer.

"Boy, I _trained _you, I know every move you could possibly make in this situation. Do you think that you can really catch me off of my feet?" Valentine laughs, hearty and deep, and it makes me want nothing more than to shove a cactus down his cackling throat. His white hair falls into his eyes, and when he brings his face back down, his eyes are dark and shadowed. He looks completely unhinged from reality, and that worries me.

"I think that you don't know a damn thing about us," I speak up, lifting my chin and keeping a level head about my shoulders. _He can't intimidate me. _

He lunges forward then, his sword coming down into the grass in the exact spot that I was standing, but I dodged far out of reach and now I stand behind him, and Jon stands a few feet in front of him. He ignores me as I watch him shadow Jonathans every move; Jonathan tilts his head, and Valentine reciprocates the gesture. My brother steps forward, and Valentine steps backwards, as if they are _connected. _

It renders him useless and he strikes out with his sword, not coming close to even grazing his older doppelgänger. I wince and step forward when Valentine brings his broadsword just millimeters from Jon's chest; the fabric of his gear has a slit in it, hanging open, despite the thickness of the gear that protects against demonic attacks.

When Valentine's back is fully to me and he's nearly on top of Jonathan now, I don't hesitate to take a running start and bring my sword down like a spear; and then he's gone.

My sword is nestled deep into the earth just next to Jonathan's head.

"Jonathan!" I yell, my heart pounding, even though I can see that he's perfectly okay. "I could have…"

"You didn't," he says through gritted teeth, rolling over and facing our father, who is laughing at us.

"You two just work together _so well_," he laughs with sarcasm. It makes my vision blurry that he mocks me like this, when I nearly fucked everything up in my heated decision to lunge with my sword first, not thinking about Jonathan underneath him. My face burns red with anger and I yank my sword out of the grass.

"Don't laugh so soon, father," Jonathan grimaces, circling around him. Valentine just stands there, perfectly confident in his position. As if Jonathan doesn't have the guts to drive a sword through his own father's heart.

Jonathan goes for another terrifying blow, but Valentine deflects it easily, and kicks Jonathan's feet out from under him. I'm moving again, and by sheer force, I manage to throw myself on my father's back, which _does _take him off guard. I don't like physically fighting with my hands; I prefer a sword or weapon of some sort.

"You won't hurt him like you hurt me," I hiss, my arm secured tightly under his chin, cutting off his windpipe. He thrashes me, but I hold tight with my legs wrapped around him, and my other arm holding my elbow tightly in place. The world is spinning, and then I'm being crushed by sheer force, the wind knocked out of me as I loosen my hold on him. It's all the time he needs to roll over on top of me and land a bone-crunching blow to my face. I hear the crunching of my nose shattering, and feel the blood _pouring _from my face before the weight is gone, and I can breathe a little better.

"Jace," I say through blood and sweat, both mingling and running onto my clothes. He's sitting next to me, a stele in his hand and already burning into my arm. The blood stops flowing and in one angry burst, I feel the bones in my nose knit themselves together. I spit more of the red liquid from my mouth, and pull the collar of my shirt under the gear to wipe off what I can, but it's already soaked. "Thank you."

"Any time," he smirks, helping to my feet, thought I don't think I really need it. I like it, though. "Where'd they go?"

"Valentine ran off into the trees, and Jonathan chased after him," Jace says, chewing on his lip.

"What the hell are you waiting for? Let's go," I frown, already grabbing my sword and entering the tree line.

"Clary," Jace grabs my arm. "You need a plan. You and Jonathan tag teaming him isn't working out the best strategy." He runs his hand over my bruised and bloodied cheek, resting on my neck. I want to lean into him and just be done with the nonsense that my father has brought up, but I can't. I don't run away from my problems like _him_.

"What do you propose we do?" I ask, crossing my arms, wary of the ongoing fight going on in the distance; _I hope that everybody is okay_.

"I have no freaking clue."

"That's helpful," I roll my eyes and turn away, grabbing my stele and reapplying runes while I have a second.

"Clary."

"_What_?" I sigh. I need to figure this out.

"Your stele," he says, coming around to face me with a curious expression.

"Do you need it?" I ask.

"No, Clary," he says. "Your _stele. Use_ _it_."

It clicks then. It's not something I often think of, my abnormal stele. But it's helped me in the past. It's kept me _alive,_ by creating a new rune. But the one that I hold now, it's not the same stele I used before. It's not _mine. _

"This isn't the one, Jace. It was different," I tell him, frowning at the slim stick of adamas.

"I don't think it was the stele. I've _seen _what you can do, and that's not normal," he says, looking down at me with a small smile. "It's _you _that's different, Clary. Not the stele."

Looking down at the one in my hands, borrowed from the Institute, I think about what Jace has said. I don't feel like it's _me. _I feel normal…like me? Of _course _I feel like me, that's a stupid question. But I'm stronger than most, even for my short stature. I could take Jace down easily. I'm just as fast as Simon, and he's a vampire. I've always put it down to the fact that I was trained by the best in Idris, but now… I'm not so sure.

What if I'm _not _normal? If I am… then what the hell is it?

I don't have time to think about the answers to my own cross examination when I hear a piercing scream rip through the trees. I'm off, with Jace barely staying on my heels as I sprint under branches and clear through brush to find my brother. He's there, with my father hovering over him, and a seraph blade pinning him grotesquely to the ground. The amount of crimson makes it look as if the Earth is weeping for my brother.

I feel my head spinning faster and faster when Valentine takes the handle of the blade and _twists, _eliciting another agonized scream, and I—I just _snap. _I'm lunging forward and on top of my father before I can think of a plan to actually _kill _him, but the answer doesn't take more than two punches to his disgusting face to come to me.

_The rune is all angles, sharp and twisted, and I know it's wrong. It's alliance is anything but that of the Angel Raziel, but It comes to me for a reason, and the reason is lying underneath me with a bloodied smile and a pitch black gleam in his eyes, as if he's ready to swallow me whole, given the chance. _

I pull my stele out, and slam it down into Valentine's chest, where the adamas sizzles and burns his skin. He screams, and I smile at the sound, all reason drifting in the wind. It's only me, and him, and only one of us is coming out alive. I'll be the one walking away today.

"You won't do this, Clarissa. You're too _weak. _You're a daddy's girl, you _need _me," he wheezes, the twisted smile not once faltering. He actually _believes _what he is saying. He believes it all.

"I said that you don't know a damn thing about me, Valentine. You don't. I stopped needing you when you faked your cowardly death. I stopped needing you when I was fifteen and living on the _streets_ because I couldn't _bear_ to go back to that empty fucking house, because of you.

"And now you've forsaken the Morgenstern family name, and I'm truly appalled. I thought appearances were all that you cared about? What about staying true to the Law?"

He is still and silent underneath me, just listening.

"You don't understand a damn thing about our world, you ungrateful brat," he says calmly, and I push the stele in harder, causing him to suck in a pained breath.

"_It's you who doesn't understand the world_," I whisper, and slash my hand into the mark that's burning in my mind's eye, coal black and _abnormal. _Valentine is screaming and writhing, his eyes rolling back until the convulsions are so bad that I have to step off of him.

I watch as he bites so hard on his tongue that blood runs from his mouth, along with a white frothy substance.

I don't feel any of that sick pride that I was feeling a little bit ago. I feel like someone is sitting on my chest as I watch my spasming father cease to exist.

I hold my breath and count to ten when it stops.

I take a deep breath and kneel down next to him, holding my arm out towards his neck, not daring to look at the sickeningly black skin on his chest, scorched by the mark that I placed there.

He's dead.

My father is dead, and I killed him in the worst way possible; I can feel it. I can also feel how the air around me has shifted; there's a breeze carrying the stench of death and blood away from me. I can see the rising sun through the branches of the trees up above, bathing the forest in a warm yellow glow, so much unlike the navy blue that covered the place before. I feel lighter, more buoyant.

He's dead, and we're alive. I don't hear screaming from the plains where the Seelies were attacking our people; I hear silence. It's deafening.

"Clary, we need to get Jonathan help," Jace says somberly, cracking the peaceful picture I had painted with my mind. I turn and immediately go to them. The seraph blade is laying bloodied to the side, but the hole remains, piercing straight through his body. There are iratzes and blood replenishing runes all over his torso, but the blood still flows slowly. Dropping to my knees and checking Jon's pulse, I press down hard to find it. It's there. It's a faint flutter, but it's there nonetheless. I could cry out of the relief that I feel, but I don't. He needs help now.

I stand up and Jace silently takes an unconscious Jonathan into his arms, careful not to jostle the boy too much. I mindlessly hurry back the way we came, steady and careful. The sun is blinding when I step out of the cover of the forest, and people stand in the distance, waiting; someone points in our direction.

People are swarming up to us like bees in just a few seconds, and Jonathan is laid on a stretcher, and taken away. That's when I snap out of my trance and jolt towards him, not wanting to leave his side. I can't let anything happen to him. Hands hold me back, and I look up to see Luke, his clothes tattered, but completely intact, looking down on me with sad eyes.

"The Silent Brothers will take care of him," he murmurs softly. I pull my hand away and look around for the people carrying him off, only I can't find them.

"He hates the Silent Brothers. I need to be there when he wakes up," I tell Luke while rushing past him, standing up onto my toes to look. There's just too many damn people for me to find anybody.

"Clary!" I hear two people call at the same time. From both directions come a raven haired Shadowhunter and a pale, brunette vampire. Both share similar looks of relief.

"Are you okay? Where's Jon? Valentine?" Isabelle bombards me with questions, and I've hardly been able to comprehend the situation, let alone explain it to someone.

"Yes. Silent City. Hell," I answer shortly.

"Hell?" Simon asks, his forehead wrinkling. "Does that mean you…" He trails off.

"Jonathan promised to send him to Hell. I upheld that promise," I tell them. It doesn't logically make any sense, but I can feel that _that_ rune did exactly what I meant for it to do. It took care of the demon in my life, and I'll never have to deal with him again.

Now, I'm tired, and I want to be next to Jonathan. I want to be sure that he's alright, that he's going to make a full speedy recovery. I pray to the Angel that he'll recover fine. I pray to the Angel that _I'll _recover fine, because only _He_ knows how messed up my head is right now. I just need to sleep.

But I keep going, because that's all that I know how to do.

* * *

><p><em>(Sorry if you guys kept getting notifications for me updating, I was just editing and replacing the previous chapters. Well, I didn't really EDIT them, I just added chapter songs quotes.)_


	19. Chapter 19: Aftermath

_War is all around_

_I'm growing tired of fighting  
>I've been drained and I can't hide it<br>But I have strength for you  
>You're all that's real anymore<br>I am coming home now  
>I need your comfort<em>

_From this moment  
>From this moment<br>You'll never be alone  
>We're bound together<br>Now and forever  
>The loneliness has gone<em>

_States are crumbling  
>And walls are rising high again<br>It's no place for the faint hearted  
>But my heart is strong<br>Because now I know where I belong  
>It's you and I against the world<br>We are free_

_We've gone against the tide  
>All we have is each other now<br>I am coming home now  
>I need your comfort<em>

_Bound together  
>Now and forever<br>Loneliness has gone_

Aftermath, Muse

* * *

><p><strong>Clary<strong>

The weekend goes by in a blur, much like it did when I was trapped inside my father's home. This time it's because I can't focus on anything but what's on my mind, all of the questions left unanswered and it leaves me in a state of confusion.

Nothing is the same.

My father is dead, and the Clave is investigating the rune that I used on him. Nobody knew that I could create new runes, except for the few that I've told. Jace, Isabelle, Simon, and Luke. If they choose to tell anyone, I would have no clue. The Clave sure as hell doesn't have a clue where it came from, besides the fact that it's demonic. I could be put on trial for that. And a trial by the Clave is not an easy one to overcome; the Mortal Sword doesn't lie.

I used a demonic rune on my father.

I killed my father using energy from the things that I hunt at night. The very thing that I've dedicated my life to killing, I've used to my advantage. It has me feeling like a hypocrite. It's one thing to dislike Mundanes, but still enjoy their writing and music, and it's a whole other thing to completely go against your own moral code that you've fought so hard to keep untarnished. It's _dirty_.

And it all comes back to the unanswered questions: How did I do it? How can I do any of it? Why am I different? Why did my father choose this life, what was the point? What about the prophecy that Hodge Starkweather spoke of just before my father took me away in a flurry of disillusionment?

None of it makes sense, and it leaves me with a migraine and feeling like I could sleep for years.

And then there's my brother. He's not yet recovered from the angel blade. Shadowhunter's aren't meant to have seraph blades used against them. They're made of adamas, infused by the Iron Sisters with heavenly fire to cleanse our world of demons. But when a Shadowhunter is harmed with one… It's a different story. It doesn't happen often enough, because we're careful with our blades. But most people die.

But Jonathan is strong. He's unconscious still, but he's fighting with every breath he takes, pushing back against the minuscule, but nearly poisonous heavenly fire that has entered his body. It's the smallest amount, but it's enough to kill a Shadowhunter if they are not pure.

My brother is a true warrior, though. He fights for the Law in the name of the Angel Raziel, and he holds his head high with humility and modesty. He doesn't flaunt what he has, although his skills are incredible in the catholic sense of the word; his skill set is very wide in range. He knows over a hundred ways to kill a person.

He's good, though, and he would never use his advantages to harm others, unless they pose a threat to our world. He's as pure as the fine white hair on his head, and I won't let myself believe otherwise. If I give up hope on that, then I forfeit the chance of being with the only family I have left.

And I've been alone for so long. I don't want to be alone any more. I don't want to roam the world, looking for some twisted revenge on a greater demon that my own father controlled. I don't want to live out of a single backpack, carrying it everywhere I go. I'm tired, and I just want to be free finally. I want to be able to live like a normal teenager, like Isabelle, or Jace, or even Alec, although he hates me. I just want to be a normal Shadowhunter, and when I'm with my new friends... I feel as close as I'll ever get to that dream.

Especially with Jace. In the short time that I've known Jace, I've actually come to like the guy. He had my back during the battle, and he always popped up right when I needed him most; not a second too early, not a second too late. He doesn't hold me back. He pushes me forward and helps me strive. I feel safe when I'm around him, and that's not a feeling that I've had the luxury of living in for years. I really like it.

I really like _him_.

But for the moment, I need to be alone to sort through everything, and that makes me sad. Jace understands, though, he's the one that came to me about it.

He's like the beacon of a lighthouse. I know he's there, and I can float towards that shore whenever I'm ready to. He's not going anywhere, he's happily anchored into the rocks. He's my lighthouse.

"_You know that I care about you, right_?" He had asked me, with his white smile and eyes brighter than the afternoon sun filtering in from our spot up in the dim rafters of the training room. I was up there, alone, trying to clear my mind with my sketchbook in hand. It didn't work very well. I smiled at him sadly, with no clue how to go about what I wanted to say. But I didn't have to explain a thing.

"_Yes_," Is all that I had said. It was enough for him, for now. That made me feel light. For the few minutes that we were together, I could think again, clear as a crystal. It was nice being able to talk and think clearly.

"_And I know you have stuff that you need to take care of_," he took my hand at that point, lacing our fingers together and squeezing. I knew exactly what he was saying even before the words left his mouth.

"_I do. Thank you, Jace_."

"_I'm here if you ever need anything. I'll be here_," he said. The _always_ was left unspoken, and still it as was clear as can be.

_I lean into his shoulder, looking up at him. He's all sharp angles and bruised skin in this lighting, and I've never seen someone look so beautiful, so unaware. His eyes meet mine, and I lean up and kiss him, catching him off guard. He doesn't stay in shock for long, and his hand comes up to cup my cheek before moving backwards into my soft curls, massaging my scalp as our lips and tongues move together in our first real kiss, free of worry and unrushed because we know that we're safe, now._

It makes me sad. His lips were so sweet and soft, unlike his rough hand than ran through my hair. And he's strong, so strong; how could he even put up with me, and promise to wait for me while I sort out my screwed up life? It's a miracle.

"_Promise_?"

"_I promise, Clary._"

* * *

><p>Jonathan is awake.<p>

I follow the Silent Brother down the Institute hallway, and into the room that they've set him up in. A nervousness settles into my stomach, gnawing at me, making me feel nauseous. I want to puke, but I need my strength for Jonathan; I'm all that he has now, and he's all that I have. We need each other more than I'd like to admit.

The room is the same as all the others here, generic and devoid of anything personal or homey. Plain hardwood floors that match the hallway, a wrought iron bed frame with clean white sheets and a light blue blanket; that's the only color in the room, really. The details of the room are not the first thing that I notice, however.

The first thing that I notice is the wheelchair, angled towards the window on the far wall. It's just a regular wheelchair; two wheels, two little square foot rests, a black seat, and handles to push the chair. It's nothing special.

The second thing that I notice is Jonathan sitting in it. His back is partially to me, but I can make out his fine white hair through the bright sun bathing him. His legs lay limply on the foot rests of the chair, and yet, he's still smiling up at me. He's alive. Jon's alive, but he's… he's still _hurt_.

"Jonathan," I whisper, coming up to his side and slowly crouching down. I'm not used to standing over him; he's a giant. I don't know how to act in this situation, but I'm sure that the panic and worry is clear on my face.

"_Don't_ start," he holds up a finger in scorn, his eyebrows bunching together. "I don't want any of that sympathy bullshit, especially not from you, Clarissa."

I roll my eyes at his use of my full name and look at his legs, still not fully believing. I look back at the Silent Brother behind me, my eyebrows raised in question.

_"The seraph blade severed his spinal chord when it went through him. We were able to control the damage to his organs, but we could not repair the spinal column,"_ he speaks into my mind. I nod and look back at Jon, who is sitting patiently, waiting for me to talk.

"So, this will be different," I say, laying a hand on his leg. "We'll have to get you one of those handicap parking passes," I say with a smile, trying to lighten the mood with a joke that's poor in taste. It works though, and Jon rolls his eyes, fighting the giggle that is trying to escape his lips.

"Since when do you drive?" He asks me with raised eyebrows. I purse my lips.

"I can learn. Or I can drive carriages through Central Park for some pocket money," I laugh. He smiles and shakes his head.

"What am I going to do with you?" He jokes lightly, but it brings up a good point.

"What are _we_ going to do?" I ask rhetorically, with a deep sigh and a heavy heart.

"I don't know, Clary. We'll figure it out," he shrugs.

"I think I want to go back to the manor." I blurt. I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and now that everything is over, I think that I want to go and pick through everything. I still have so many unanswered questions whose answers I may find in Valentine's old study.

"What?" He's shocked by my wanting to go back there.

"It's not so much as I _want_ to, but that I _need_ to, I guess. There's a lot left unsaid, and I need to know it all. I want to know _why_ he did what he did, why he tried _killing_ me. It's like he was performing some sort of ritual, and… I don't know. And that's the problem. I need to know."

"I'll go with you. Tell me when," he says immediately, his face open and honest. I chew on my lip, contemplating. It may not be the best idea with his new hindrance, but I could use the help; plus he has just as many questions as I do.

He picks up on my doubt right away.

"I'm not letting this damned thing get in the way of doing what needs to be done," he says through clenched teeth, starting to look irritated. "I'm a Shadowhunter regardless of _this_."

"I know you are, Jon. Don't let anybody ever tell you less, or I'll have to kill them. And I don't want to kill anyone in the near future," I smile at him.

"Good," he replies, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to the handles of the chair, where someone pushes it like a stroller. "Now roll me on out to the kitchen, I'm hungry."

"I'm not your nurse," I glare, taking the handles and pushing a laughing Jonathan forward nonetheless. For now, it's going to be just me and him.

Jon and Clary.

* * *

><p><strong>So, what do you guys think? Only 2 more chapters, probs both going to be epilogues. Then on to the sequel! I'm digging the name Sweet Redemption for the sequel, what do you guys think? <strong>

**Today is a sad day for the Killjoys! Three years My Chemical Romance has been gone. Wearing my Black parade shirt right now... Where are my Killjoys at?! I know someone reading has to be! Leave me a comment. **

**BUT, Warped Tour announcements are being Live streamed right now, so I'm watching as I write this AN, so if you are watching, tell me who you're excited to see, if you are planning on going to Warped! :D **

**Anyways, let me know what you think, what you like, or just chat me up! Love you guys (: **

**xoxo Em**


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